Final Prophecy
by butterfly-pieces
Summary: (Sequel to Second Chances)Allison returns from the dead for the last time, not as an angel, nor a fallen angel, but a nephalim, and something more. Unable to turn back from a life with John, she stands on a precipice, fighting to finish what she started, to end the war amongst the angels, even if it means undoing the union with her very own Lucifer.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances". I didn't really intend to do a sequel (heck, I hadn't intended to make a sequel out of the prequel), but here it is. Allison and John are two characters that don't really leave my head and, well, there seems to be a story they want to tell. I'm really not sure where this is going and I don't like to publish things until they're finished, but...I'll take the risk, mainly because I feel like taking the risk. Allison's getting to me, I think...hopefully in a good way.

* * *

**Prologue**

The world seems strange to her now – almost alien. She's not an angel, she's not a _fallen_ angel, but she feels different, _changed_, in spirit yet not in body.

She's meant to roam the world as…what? A ghost? An echo? She's able to travel onto holy ground – which she discovered, when she actually dared to step into a church – and she even found the doorway to hell – actually, she didn't _find_ it, but rather was led to it, pulled by his _scent_.

That's when she knew she wasn't human, not quite. She couldn't be. Not when she could feel _him_ – he's darkness, like the sense of foreboding, like the coming of an earthquake, of the kind of natural disaster some would run from but she simply walked through it and felt no fear.

Giving up heaven wasn't difficult to do – she's glad she never even had the chance to walk in or else, she would've had a harder time saying no.

She had unfinished business and, to make it worse, being in heaven would've forced her to pick a side.

And that's where Michael had played his part.

"I thought I'd be lucky to get Saint Peter, but to have a couple of archangels is pretty surprising, and scary," she had admitted, knowing full-well what the gates before her meant.

Saint Peter had been there, somber, unsure if to let her in or not. His instructions had been simple...let her in if she wanted access, but to not open the gates. She would enter them as a human, walk them as a nephalim and kneel before Him to join the ranks of His angels. Saint Peter told her as such and, as she took a look around, she saw the shadow of other angels, none of them welcoming, but Gabriel stood by her side, smiling. Michael, however, stood aside, looking neutral at best, and that is what had piqued her curiosity.

"What do you think?" She would've asked John, normally, but he wasn't there, for obvious reasons.

"I think you have a choice, nephalim."

"The war..." She started, looking at the clouds around them, the angels heard wailing in the distance, still rebelling.

"It will happen again," his face betrayed no emotion.

"Can we stop it?" She could hear it, even from far away, the cries were there, and the longer she stood here, the more she could feel it...something else...something _cold_.

"**We** can't," Gabriel started, looking over to Michael, his smile as terrifying as it was when they first met.

Michael picked up where he left off, "Angels do His bidding. We cannot intervene in the world of man. There may be those rebelling against Him, disturbing the order of heaven, but here, we cannot undo what He has created. We can simply...rebel."

"So it's going to keep happening? In a loop? For all eternity," she shuddered through her words.

"Yes," Michael murmured, "humanity, however, has had a way of...altering things. Of bringing forth prophecies necessary to restore what once was."

She swallowed, "But I'm dead...I died. I can't go back."

"Can't you?" Gabriel stood in front of her and put his hand on her heart – she felt it beat – and with that, she took a step back, and another, and another, until she was falling, falling so fast and so long that she had almost forgotten what she had fallen for.

_John_.

No, not just John. She would go to him, that she had known even then, but deep within her soul, she knew she had a mission, one that would rival his own.

Even now, she doesn't have the heart to tell him what it is.

By now, it is clear that she has given up the life she had as Hope, she has _nothing _else; however, being the girlfriend of the root of all evil has its perks.

John finds her an identity, a home, a job, and there she bides her time, patiently, awaiting for the next step.

The one that might restore heaven to its former glory, bring peace to the trapped souls and challenge Lucifer himself by saving everyone...perhaps even him.


	2. They Come at Night

**Stating the Obvious: **The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **Well, without further ado, here is Allison, her third reincarnation and, I must say, I like this one. I think she's grown. She's still the full of faith, slightly doe-eyed, driven by the find of a purpose Allison that she was in the beginning. But she has died, in my writing, twice, and she has lost a lot...most of it because of the choices she's made and the ones she didn't make. That kind of thing tends to wear on you...and for Allison, I'm afraid it will...oh, it will *insert evil laugh here* And John is so deliciously John. I like John. Lucifer. Mmm, I thought a little about Viggo Mortensen's interpretation of Lucifer in the first installment, but still, with a touch of John Light to keep it so very John. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1. They Come at Night**

Her apartment is mostly bare, which she finds oddly comforting; it's a studio apartment in the wrong side of town, but there's not much to be afraid of these days.

Things are strangely calm aside from the gunshots, disputes in the distance, couples yelling; she doesn't enjoy the environment but, somehow, she feels safe here. She feels it's safer for _them_.

She doesn't have a lot, although the space is there. Her bedroom simply holds a mattress, a bible, a crucifix and she had managed to find a picture of her parents – the Crowe family – from the newspaper. The living room has an assortment of books and notes – research, she tells John, for purely learning purposes, but based on the theme, she doubts he believes her.

The kitchenette is almost as bare, except for the coffee machine and the boxes of tea, a small table and a couple of chairs. She doesn't have to eat – not really – but she can still enjoy the taste of things; granted, it triggers bodily needs that she could do without – not going to the bathroom for hours at a time had been something worth getting used to – but she finds the little human gestures remind her of what little humanity she has left. She also has boxes of cat food and cat litter; after a stray had become infatuated with her, nights of constant mewling led Allison to give in to the tabby companion.

Her life is otherwise simple; a job – librarian, convenient in many ways – a boyfriend, an apartment, a pet and nothing out of the ordinary…but whenever John isn't with her, whenever she isn't distracted by her human side, by her emotions, she could feel it. Something is coming.

Change.

She's sitting on the frame of the open window, looking out the fire escape, Simon resting on her lap, her fingers gently stroking the back of his ears. Her legs are stretched, her feet touching the other side of the window frame and she's looking at the dark sky, the moon hiding behind the clouds, wondering if one day she'd back at the gates, able to walk in…would she even do it? Would she really leave John behind?

There's mostly silence in the street, the distant sound of an ambulance, traffic is unusually light, and the air conditioners hard at work.

Simon breaks the silence by lifting his head and hissing, breaking Allison away from her reverie, and she follows the feline's sight, seeing a figure – possibly male – standing in the alley, staring at her window, wearing a long coat that stands out to her – it's hard to miss.

It could be Gabriel, Michael or even John, but her second transformation has made her perception that much clearer. She can smell him – she recognizes him. A seraph. Those were never her favorite, thanks to Stark, and she knows exactly what he's looking for.

She lets go of Simon, letting him run up the steps of the fire escape, as she goes inside, not even bothering to close the window – the last thing she needs is to have to explain to her landlord why her door was broken in or having the cops called, so inviting him in seems like the best idea at the moment.

Or not.

Angels, regardless of which hierarchy they belong to, are able to move faster and jump higher than could ever be considered normal. By the time she goes to her bathroom to get the dagger she had taped just under her sink, she feels the intruder in her apartment. There would be no point in hiding, she knows, but the dagger is another matter.

She steps out of the bathroom, chin up, facing the Seraph before her. His hair is slicked back, his eyes sinister, and he eyes the room before his eyes ever find hers – what is he trying to find?

"I hadn't expect you so soon," she sounds braver than she expected – then again, she has died twice, and this time, she hadn't wasted time laying low. She used her time. She has learned.

He tilts his head to the side, it almost looks like he's smelling her, looking for something, but it makes no sense…she's been under the radar, so far. What is he looking for?

"It is true. You have become his whore."

The sentence might as well had ripped out her heart, as she had not expected it at all, and her grip on the dagger tightens.

"His stench is everywhere. On you."

Her eyes narrow, "I'm sorry, did you want a turn?"

As soon as the words leave her mouth, the snarls begin and she's seeing red, an irrational anger coursing through her veins as she moves the dagger in front of her chest, ready to thrust in his direction, but he grabs her arm and pushes against her chest, twisting her hand far enough away so that the dagger doesn't touch him. With his other hand, he grabs a handful of her hair, pulling it back, and she pushes herself towards him, sneaking her leg between his without lifting it and then she hooks it behind his knee, putting enough force to cause him to lose his balance and momentum, having them both fall on the floor.

The fall onto his torso is a clumsy one – it's different in her classes – but she's able to regain control and straddle his waist, putting more weight onto the dagger, aiming for the chest, but there are two hands battling with her now and his strength is relentless.

He must've had some classes of his own because he uses his body to throw her off balance, and uses one of his hands to squeeze her wrist – the one holding the dagger – so tight that the pain registers and his movements are gaining on her, and it's either lose the dagger or lose ground.

She can't lose the dagger. She lets herself be thrown off, but once her back meets the floor, she rolls away, towards the wall, and she thought it'd be the best tactic – get as far away as you can and stand your ground, gain enough space to plan your next attack, her trainer would say – but then her arm meets the wall and she's about to turn, palm down, knee pulled to her stomach, ready to stand, but there's a shoe on her neck and even though she can't die that way, she knows it'll hurt.

She doesn't have time to contemplate on the pain, as in that instant, a hand goes through the angel's chest and she can see it's heart, cradled in a hand, but she doesn't see who the hand belongs to until the body is pushed aside, inches away from her head, and she sees him.

"John," she coughs, her throat feeling the effects of the pressure it had just endured.

"While your lessons in battle are somewhat endearing, you need to understand, sweetheart," he crouches, looking at the heart before bringing it to his nose, savoring the smell. He smiles, "these are soldiers you're fighting, not the children of men."

She sighs, registering the fact that he saved her life even while insulting her intelligence, "At least I fought."

His eyes linger on the dagger, still in her hand, and he isn't smiling, "You were just going to carve his heart out, were you?" She stays silent, listening, "You need a more direct approach when killing an angel, Allison." He lifts the heart between them, giving it a squeeze, "You need to be willing to carve through the body, reach into the cradle of the soul, and be willing to extinguish its light with your own," he begins to crush the heart in his hand, "bare," there is blood running over his fingers, onto the floor, "hands." The heart is nothing but a forgotten piece of twisted organ, which he drops.

That's when Allison notices Simon lurking near, his nose close to the floor, eying the pool of blood. She sits up, reaching for the feline, "Oh no, you don't."

"Your cat has better predatory instincts than you."

She rolls her eyes before standing, the cat still in her hands, the dagger forgotten, "Thanks for saving me, again," she murmurs. He has saved her before, even if it wasn't intentional, at first.

"I felt your anger," he shrugs, and to her quirked eyebrow, he adds, "angels are connected to each other. I felt Gabriel when he rebelled, enjoyed his dance onto my domain. I feel you because...well, it should be obvious." He steps closer to her, his blood-soaked fingers on her cheek. She should be angry, disgusted, appalled, but after spending week – over a couple of months, really – with him, her body finds him _normal_.

"So, you can you feel what I'm thinking now?" Her smile widens when his lips quirk, "Not that, John. That," she nudges the body with her foot, "you're cleaning up. Just be thankful I don't have a carpet."

She walks away, towards the window, scanning the outside to make sure there aren't others waiting.

"When did you turn domestic?" He, at least, has the courtesy of stepping away from the blood.

She doesn't answer, her eyebrows furrowed, "What did they want?"

"I thought perhaps you'd know."

She shakes her head, looking back, uncertain, but she says it anyway, "He called me your whore."

To that, he smiles, walking over to her and as he stands behind her, he starts to scratch Simon's head, letting him lick the blood from his fingers and smiling wide when Allison glares at him for it.

"And you're accepting the title?"

She looks away, letting Simon go out the fire escape, seemingly entertained with some noise around the dumpsters. "I believe he came here to kill me, but not because of who I sleep with or what they might think I am. Something else is going on, John. They're up to something."

There's a certain pride in his eyes – oh, yes, Allison has _learned_ – and he pulls her back to him, letting her back rest in his embrace.

"They have been for ages...as have I."

"Armageddon?" The word is heavy on her tongue, but it's always what it is – what it has been from the start.

"Yes." He whispers and she tenses in his embrace, the decision dangling before her.

She's been researching – reading book on angels, on different prophecies, trying to predict outcomes, of how a war in heaven could end, could be stopped, could be won. Trying to interpret the bible is even worse. The truth of the matter is, when you read between the lines, you see far more than you're prepared to.

The coming of another Armageddon only means that she has to make that choice again, the choice she has always made.

To end the war, welcome the Apocalypse, free the souls of man into the kingdom of heaven...but lose John.

Lucifer has no place in God's plan – not the good part of the end, at least.

As if sensing her thoughts – it's who she is – he turns her around and his kiss is angry, painful. He hates the idea of losing her to Him, she knows, as it has already happened before.

The body is soon forgotten, as is the blood on _his_ hands, and the blood that will always remain unseen, on _her _hands.

* * *

**After thought:** I have to be honest, this story is becoming difficult to write, and this chapter explains why. The first time I brought Allison back, she didn't know why, she didn't know if she was just reincarnated as a reward or just 'cause, life happens. This time, she knows Michael and Gabriel are playing the chess game again, it's just a matter of _why_. And I do loathe chess games, so this one might be a little harder working out...


	3. A Favor for an Angel

**Stating the Obvious: **The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer: **I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long (work, Mother's Day weekend, then vacation week with the boyfriend...faint!) Unfortunately, no John in this chapter – not really – but you'll see him in the next chapter. Oh, most definitely. To **Peygan**, I enjoy them very much as well. To **The-Pirate-Lass**, thank you for the kind words :-) it's nice to know I'm not the only one get some enjoyment out of this. That was one of my favorite lines from that chapter. I just like being able to put the voices on a document, and this time, Gabriel and Michael are chatting away in my head. They're really up to no good. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

* * *

**Chapter 2. **A Favor for an Angel

* * *

Allison enjoys working at the library, more than she should, really – it's often empty, aside from the college students and the occasional person trying to use their internet. It doesn't bother her that people have hid themselves behind e-books and computers; she likes the peace it gives her.

No one recognizes her, either – it's been years since Hope's "death", anyway. She also hides behind glasses now – they're non-prescription glasses – a long skirt, boots and a blouse, her coat on a rack. Nothing remotely stylish or glamorous about her attire anymore.

She's browsing through the theology section – making sure she keeps an ear out for anyone asking for help – and one book catches her eye – she doesn't remember seeing it before, the author a Thomas Dagget, whom she doesn't really recognize. She picks it from the shelf and, as she opens it, a page falls.

She bends down to pick it up, her heart pounding with foreboding. The page is folded into squares, looks old, and as she opens it, her eyebrows meet, confused. The 23rd chapter of the book of revelations. It's not the Lexicon, she knows, but it is still impossible. Yet, as the Allison who grew close to Father Constatin, before he died, she knows this chapter. She remembers seeing it, not being able to read it – not quite – but now, she can.

"Oh, God," she murmurs, as quite literally, this is it. It explains the war in heaven perfectly, but something it's still being written, _rewritten_. The words are lit, glowing, moving, waiting for something...but for what?

She focuses on the page, tries to focus it into existence.

"What are you," she murmurs under her breath.

"Excuse me...?"

She's brought back to her current reality by a customer needing to know where she could find a book following the history of the bonsai tree and the culture that nurtured its popularity. She folds the paper and puts it in her pocket, taking the book with her.

Research, she thinks, in more ways than one.

* * *

On her way home, she's not walking – at this pace, she's running. The subway is mostly empty at this hour of night and instinct tells her to check her leg, just underneath her skirt, her dagger hidden in a sheath, trying to make sure she's ready for any surprises.

As she goes through the doors, looking both ways to see where she'd sit, she sees the last person she was expecting this soon in the game.

She puts her hand in her pocket – the page is still there – and heads over in his direction, sitting across from him, "Michael." She fishes the page out of her pocket, "Did you plant this for me?"

His face is calm, unreadable – she trusted him once. She's not sure if she's able to do it again. "I am not one of your followers, Allison. I am neither Simon nor Lucifer. I do only what He allows."

"Michael, his one loyal arch," she mutters, but it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, as she catches herself in surprise. She didn't think herself capable of saying that.

To make matters more alarming, Michael actually chuckles, "It seems Lucifer is growing on you. It would be interesting if the growth went both ways."

She clears her throat, knowing that to be unlikely, "Why is this chapter unwritten? When I had the Lexicon...it wrote itself. The end. It was Mykael."

"And, in the beginning, before it even met you, that page depicted the end through someone else," he leans forward, his face growing somber, "death is final, yes, but it doesn't travel down a single road. You should know that more than anyone."

She swallows, "So it's happening again."

He leans back, arms crossed, "Not again, Allison. As it has always meant to. God did not create Armageddon for it to only happen one way There are many ways, some capable of being prevented, some aren't. It will always come down to faith."

That goes with a few of the theology books she's read; many people say believing in a prophecy creates the reality of it, forces you to follow the path by merely believing it – the concept of destiny.

"Will this end the war?" Her heart is beating John's name, it's telling her not to, to put him behind, but the time spent, the fact that she's been gravitating to him from the start keeps her from it.

Michael looks at the far end of the subway, where a homeless man looks at them, eyes squinted. "Humanity has depicted ways to live in peace...the answer is right there, inside of them, and yet, are they at peace?"

Her eyes narrow, "They're given free will, emotions, all of which conflicts with reason. God expects us to fail, doesn't He? And from our failures, we learn. Forgiveness is the one thing He offers us, above all things, but for angels to forget God's instruction to them, their whole meaning, just because He likes us differently than how he likes you – differently, not better...you're insane. And you're making us pay the price for it? If you want to make a war against anyone, make a war against God, see how that plays out, but to punish the souls of His children...how petty are you?" Her hands are shaking, everything she's read the past few weeks and the murder attempt she just survived, simply boiled over.

Michael smiles, "I see you've done well with your time. But, tell me, Allison, isn't disobedience with greatest war ever created against any master?"

To that, she has to stay silent. Michael's take on theology is not bad, she has to admit, especially since it reminds her of the story of a fallen angel she knows so well.

The subway is coming to a stop, but not her stop, and Michael stands, "My visit, Allison, isn't meant to answer your questions, but to lead you to the right ones. The war isn't meant to be stopped, not from here, but it is meant to be fought, with the right people. Think on it. As for Armageddon, it gets another chance, whether you stop it or not makes little difference. The war will be fought. The end will happen. Lucifer will be instrumental to it, as will you."

As he nears the doors, she feels her heart tighten. It can't end this way, "Why me?" She whispers, so low, she almost thinks he doesn't hear her, but he does.

"In all the time that I've known him...he's never cared for anyone but himself," Allison looks up to see a small smile in the corner of his lips – he almost looks happy – and he turns to meet her eyes, "I didn't believe it when Gabriel told me, but it's true. He cares. And you...you care for all. It's perfect." As he walks away, she swears she can hear him laughing, and though the distance should be making the sound further away, it's almost like he's still right next to her.

* * *

She's just a block away from her apartment and she can already hear Simon mewling for her. She smiles, going up the stairs and nearing her door. Just as she gets her key chain out, she finds that the door is slightly ajar.

Slowly, she puts her keys back in her coat pocket and slowly lifts up her skirt, removing the dagger from the sheath she tied around her leg.

"There's your first mistake, Allison." The voice is right behind her, speaking into her ear, "Assuming you have a target before you even see him."

She sighs, either from relief or frustration, she's not sure. "Gabriel," she pushes the door open, leaving it open for him, "Nice of you to visit. Michael's already given me some words of wisdom, I really don't think you can do any worse." She throws her coat over a nearby chair, "Unless you're planning to wipe my brain or unwipe it."

"Do you want me to?" When Allison turns around to see him, she sees him holding Simon, smiling, "I actually have a favor to ask of you."

That cat is too friendly for his own good, she sighs. "A favor?" That catches her off guard, "That's an interesting change. Usually, you and Michael just move me around without even telling me where I'm going."

"Well," he brushes some dust off the chair, before sitting down and crossing his legs, "I'm a very busy angel. You, however, are wasting your time with books about things you know more of than any other monkey. I want you, Allison, to find someone for me. His name is Joseph Blades. He's being haunted by the ghost of his wife...his wife who is dead. His wife whose soul is being kept from ascending, just like the rest of them."

He touches the right nerve, she knows, as that is a favor she cannot walk away from. But his request leaves something nagging at her head, "Is that happening to all of them? Are they becoming ghosts?"

"Exactly. They're not. But this particular soul is haunting him. The last monkey I met that was haunted by visions...well," he smiles, "he had a very important part to play. Find him, find out why, and you might just get the answers you're looking for."

He lets her cat go, going to stand, but she can't let him leave. Gabriel shouldn't need this from her – he should already _know_. This is something else. "You gave me back my life. Both of you. You're just using me, aren't you?"

He heads to the door, but turns around just at the end of her question, smiling, "When you found the Lexicon, Simon told you what to do and you did good. It could've been better, but for a monkey, it was good. Here's to hoping for a repeat performance."

"What about J-" She catches herself, but something tells her Gabriel knows what she calls him. "Lucifer. What about him? What part are you forcing him to play?"

"What part indeed." He smiles, shaking his head, and turns to leave. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Allison is tired – tired of being nothing more than a chess piece – but more than that, she's tired of having to be the one to worry about ending a war between creatures supposed to be so celestial, so greater than humans, that they should end their own damn war.

She takes a deep breath, focusing on Gabriel's request.

She tells herself it's not his request, it's His request, spoken by Gabriel. And yet, she's still pissed off that both archs have admitted that their intention is to see her bring the end into fruition.

But what they don't know is, that the end – whatever it may be – will be done her way.

* * *

**After thought:** I have to confess, I like Michael, I do, but Gabriel (aka Christopher Walker, the most amazing man ever) always makes me laugh. And on next chapter, shit hits the fan. Oh, I kind of feel bad already...kind of. But it makes up for the lack of John. I hope.


	4. The Claiming

**RATING WARNING: **M. Definitely M for mature. Really, if you can't read, turn away, but don't take away other people's freedom to read it.

**Stating the Obvious: **The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer: **I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **So, remember what I said about shit hitting the fan? Yeah. Big time. I can hardly wait! And I'm uploading this in a rush as I'm on my way to a Sci Fi/Comic Con for the weekend . and then work week, boooo. I don't think I'll even have time to proofread...sorry :-(

* * *

**Chapter 3. **The Claiming

* * *

John had been enjoying the admittance of a particular sadistic individual, whose mind he helped inspire, when he felt her – _very_ close – and he can't help but smile.

It's unbelievable how she will walk through hell as if she _owns_ it – how many times has he wondered if she would, one day, join him in that way? It is a question that has lingered, but he hasn't dared to ask – not yet. Things are just as they should be. She is Allison, he remains Lucifer and, somehow, her choice has given them another chance – one he is making sure isn't taken away again.

He waits for her, knowing full well all of his subjects have been ordered _not_ to touch her, but the cries of torment should be enough to shake her.

She admitted to him, the first time she descended to find him, she had cried for them, but as she saw him, something in her had lifted.

It had been strange to be considered the one good thing found in hell – more than strange, it is downright _insulting_ – but when it comes to Allison, he seems to care very little of what should be considered normal.

She meets him in his throne room, a place he should've probably spared her from, as the path to him is a single narrow path, but around it, from the floor, souls are attempting to rise, looking like their bodies are made of tar – hot, steaming tar. The walls are covered with bodies, without eyes, without mouths, but you can feel their suffering by the desperation in their movements, their decaying skin, the arms and limbs, the boiling flesh.

Not many can stomach it, some of his subjects are unnerved by it, but he uses it as a reminder of what he's capable of doing to anyone who does not give him the results he's expecting. He doesn't use it – the idea of ruling hell is just that, an idea, something he uses against his enemies to show them he would not shudder and cry after his loss against Him. He would take his domain and make everything cower before him, until he could rule heaven itself.

And yet, there she is, Allison, arms crossed, shuddering, but meeting his eyes without fail.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He doesn't walk the path – no, he walks over the tar, and they scream, as if he's the one burning them when they are burning from the inside. But he is, of course, hell personified, when he wants to be.

Her eyes are closed – she's probably trying to tune out the cries – and it's not until he's right in front of her, his hand on her cheek, that she opens her eyes and lets out a breath she'd been holding.

Her voice quivers, slightly, "Sometimes, I wonder..."

He smiles, but lets her finish.

"How I can accept who you are, but fearing what you are, without running for the hills and never looking back."

The cries become silent, the bodies around them unmoving, because even they must have realized, her words have a tight rein on an organ he never though he still had. He turns away from her, his fist closing and, with his mind, he's sending fire and pain to all the souls he has collected. It reminds him of what he is, and that brings him back to the matter at hand.

"I don't think you came to see me in order to define our relationship," he takes a seat on his throne and, inspired by a rogue thought, he waves his hand and creates another chair next to him – looking very much like a queen's throne. His queen's.

Allison's eyes widen and she shakes her head, as if arguing with herself, "That's not what I came for."

He has to admit, he's slightly disappointed, but his face betrays nothing. He sighs, feigning boredom, "Then, tell me, what did you come for?"

"I need your help."

"Ah, of course."

She tells him about Gabriel, about his request, and about the human...it's not until she mentions his name that she really has his attention.

"If trapped souls can visit humans, then it shouldn't be just him. It should be all of them. John, I need to find him."

"Why?" John is resting his face on the palm of his hand, watching her. "Why prevent Armageddon this time? He's not family. You're not a target. Why not let it happen, let heaven sort out its own and simply live your life with me? We can rewrite history, turn hell into something new, rule what's left of the earth, create a new life for demons and angels alike and, if we can't play nice, then...then it becomes sport." He smiles, knowing exactly what he means, but he notices she's not smiling.

"I can't be a part of that...you know I can't." She murmurs.

He sighs, "Of course. You're not His, but you're not mine, either."

He's had this argument with her before. By lying with him, by coming back to him, she's turned away from God – from his will, his love – but she accepts John, accepts Lucifer, but to a point. She'd never rule hell with him, she'd never stand by while he torments and finds ways to challenge God himself. What would she do if she were to discover he is the one tormenting Joseph Blades? Distracting him from something John is trying to protect, to use to bring forth Armageddon, one where Allison would have no choice but to make do with what's left...by his side.

He's going to lose her again.

"I can help you," not a complete lie. "I will tell you where to find him, but then you're on your own." Her eyebrows quirk in response.

"You want it to happen," she realizes.

He's making it happen, he doesn't tell her. "I'm very old, Allison. So very old. I've spent so long thinking of new ways of chaos and suffering...but this Armageddon gives me a chance to create, from the ashes, something new, and they'll be too busy fighting amongst themselves to fight my claim over the earth. And then...I could go back. I could face Him again and reclaim what's rightfully mine."

He has not stood before God since...well, since that moment – that single choice – that changed the entire meaning of his existence. He's thought about going back to heaven, not as many do, but his way, to break down the gates and let his domain burn every corner of it, to redecorate it, if you will.

God is all powerful, of course, but when his own angels have tainted heaven with their "feelings" – feelings that Lucifer once had as an angel – it taints the barrier of heaven, its very existence becoming a delicate fabric, vulnerable.

Lucifer has been waiting until the right time – the right point in the war of angels – until it would be, without a doubt, impossible for them to even see him coming.

The war amongst angels has only gotten worse as their attempts grow bolder with every time the souls are set free.

Now is the time to strike.

"John?" He realizes that she had been speaking and he did not hear her – not quite.

He clears his throat, "Do we have an understanding?" He pretends that whatever she spoke, he's disregarding. Knowing Allison, it was probably an attempt to get him to see her side of the story, the side of good, of doing the right thing. He may feel for her...things beyond anything he's ever felt before, surely, but he is still Lucifer.

In this Armageddon, Mykael won't have her – he's rotting away in his little prison which John visits, frequently – but he will. Lucifer will.

"We do," she murmurs.

As his eyes meet hers, a heat inside him rises and he can hear her heartbeat accelerating – she must've felt it, too.

"Come here," he leans back on the chair, his arms resting on each side, waiting for her.

"John, no, I-"

"Come here," he says again, but this time, his eyes are black and his voice is deep, _dark_, and he can smell her reaction. He smiles. She might try to be good, to do good, to be this creature of hope, and yet, her body is his, reacts to his darkness as if it had been born there, just waiting for him to find her.

She takes a step towards him – he's already smiling in triumph – and starts pushing her coat off her shoulders. His smile starts to disappear when he realizes that her eyes are set only on him and she's doing that thing; making him feel like she doesn't realize where she is – hell – who she's with – the devil himself – and what she's about to do – let him ravage her in his domain, in front of tortured souls, with every creature under his thumb able to feel the very ecstasy of their act vibrating from the very walls.

She only sees _him_, John, and that's how he learned love makes you do foolish things. When she's at the bottom of the steps, he stands, stripping before her, and once she reaches the top, he's naked.

His hand touches her shoulder then trails down to her arm, her elbow, her hand, then moves over to her hip, caressing her buttock before giving it a soft squeeze and then he cups her sex, feeling her heat ready for him, wanting. Her hand is curled around his cock, a hard squeeze causes him to hiss, and she's stroking him, fingers caressing every corner of skin until she's no longer a want, but a need. His fingers are hard at work, between her folds, circling around the nub until he inserts one, then two, then three, and her knees buckle in response.

He takes his hand away and places both arms around her waist, letting his hands go down to the back of her thighs and then lifting her into his arms. She wraps her legs around him instantly and shudders when she feels him positioning himself right _there_. He pulls her down to him in one swift move and it leaves them both wide-eyed and wanting.

He claims her mouth, she buries her hands in his hair and he growls when she bites down on her bottom lip – that's when the fire really starts to burn. They break the kiss as he starts to bounce her off him at a fast pace, she can only keep her legs locked behind him and her arms around his neck. She keeps biting him and he finds that he doesn't want her to stop – the kissing, licking, biting of the flesh just between the shoulder and neck – and the tortured cries around them are muted by the sound of skin slapping skin, of his growls, of her whimpers, of their imminent release, and when it happens, it's like a wave of fire washes over them both – engulfs them – and she pulls back – still clinging to him – catching her breath.

"Again," she gasps the word and his smile bares his teeth – his true teeth – and he realizes that she's not afraid.

He lets her feet touch the floor and has her bend over, hands on the armrests of his throne. He thrusts one finger into her anus, then two, until she's able to adjust and writhing under him. When she's ready, he claims her, taking pleasure in her cries, keeping one hand on her hip – pulling her to him – and using his other hand to keep her legs apart, to touch her nub, to bring her to that point again and again.

This moment, this, is perfection; having her naked in this place, taking her in the very depth of hell, and still feeling the pleasure coming from them both.

He loves her, and she loves him, and somehow, they can exist, even though their minds are clashing, their bodies dance so _very_ well.

When he comes, it's quick, and he would've been disappointed, but he's not done. He pulls her back by grabbing a handful of her hair, forcing her to stand and rest her body against his and he picks her up, sits her on what would be her throne and parts her legs as he is on his knees, ready to devour her core.

The sounds she's making are completely _inhuman_ and it makes him keep enjoy this moment _so_ very much – lick, swirl, nip, suck, fingers, faster, harder – and she finds her release.

When he looks up, her eyes are closed, her hair stuck to her face, and she's smiling.

Ecstasy. How could such a thing be a sin?

"Be mine," he murmurs against her inner thigh. "Hate what I am, challenge what I do, fight me if you must, but promise me, Allison. You are mine," he growls against her breast, sucking and biting on each one. He stays on his knees, but keeps his face buried in her chest, waiting for an answer. She's brushing his hair, touching his shoulders, his neck – not repulsed, never repulsed.

"I am yours, John, I always have-"

"No. Say it. Say it with my name, my true name," he doesn't realize his voice is quaking until it is too late. He doesn't realize _what_ he's doing until it is too late – too late to turn back.

She cups his face in her hands and her eyes are innocent – completely ignorant of what she's about to do and yet, her words are perfect. "I am yours, Lucifer. Not yours to command, not yours to control, not yours to defeat, but yours to possess, to claim, to love. I love you. I am yours."

Sudden silence fills the room – if Allison notices it, she doesn't say – and he closes his eyes, as _he_ feels it. He's sure she felt it as well, but only he knows what it is. He won't tell her. Not yet.

"And I love you," her hands still on his face as he speaks his words. "You are free from my control...I would never...I would not do to you as He did. You are free from my will, but not my love. You are mine, I am yours, to possess, to claim, to love. Forever."

When she kisses him again, he rises, taking her with him, and he lifts her up, in his arms, carrying her to a much better place – one with an actual bed – where it's just them, stolen kisses and touches, claiming and, well, fucking. And they do it so well, over and over again, never getting enough, because their bodies were made to fit – perfectly.

It makes him want to compliment the Creator himself, but he doesn't. For now, he simply drowns in flesh. They both do.

* * *

**After thought:** So, umm, yeah. What did you think just happened there? And what effects will it have on our lovely couple? Only time will tell...bwuahahaha. God, I love these two. A very twisted, wrong kind of love, but love nonetheless.


	5. Allison Makes a Friend

**RATING WARNING: **R leaning on M. It depends. Nakedness and sex, but not as explicit as the previous one, I must say.

**Stating the Obvious: **The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer: **I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **Okay, so I inadvertently brought in a new character. I mean, Joseph Blades was a must, to work the plot in (and our lovers' soon-to-be apparent conflict), but this one? This one I didn't see coming and, well, somehow, she found a way in. Sorry it took so long...comic con...work...long weekend. I seem to write better when I'm at work, for some odd reason o.O but we're not telling my bosses that, shhhh.

Oodles of thanks to Pirate Lass! Kudos for beginning your own work :-) might have to read that once I'm done here ;-) and as for what John did...you're close. You're very close. But all in due time.

* * *

**Chapter 4. **Allison Makes a Friend

* * *

When Allison wakes, her body aches in a way she's used to by now; as worrisome as she knows it sounds, she's learned to accept it with time. Everything around her is warm and soft, comfortable. She stretches, reaching out to what's normally his side, and the flesh is there, but there's something wrong...John doesn't have breasts.

She sits up in alarm with her heart is stuck in her throat.

They had met in passing, once, when Allison descended to find John the first day she came back – the woman had told her where to look, but that doesn't make them bonded in a friendship of any kind.

"Lilith," Allison greets the somewhat naked, beautiful woman, with soft, red curls cascading over her shoulders and emerald green eyes that seem to glow, even in the dark.

"Allison," she purrs, "you naughty, naughty girl." Allison ignores her comment and rushes to find clothes, noticing that John had laid out her clothes on the bedside table. "If I would've known you had such talent under that boring little skirt of yours, well, you and I could've become fast friends."

"No, thank you." Allison swallows, hard, recalling the images of the previous night. "Wait, how did you..." She turns, clearing her throat when she realizes Lilith has _no_ shame, choosing to wear a rather scandalous leather suit that covers her from the neck down – the boots reach up to her knees – but it somehow has no sense. The leather covers only certain areas – the breasts, the bottom and other very private areas remain very much exposed.

"We're in hell, pretty one," she licks her lips, "we're all connected, able to feel things from each other, for as long as we're here. It's a sort of...celestial security system."

Heat flushes to her cheeks and, even though she's fully dressed now, she feels completely naked.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about, Allison," Lilith sits up on the bed, parting her legs and looking like she's getting ready to start in a video of Van Halen, Motley Crue or Whitesnake.

"Stop it," Allison orders, the authority in her voice surprising even her. "Just stop." She turns to leave, not noticing that Lilith did just as she told and her suit is now covering her completely, no exposed parts.

As Allison nears the wall where she knows there is a door – hell doesn't make sense; there are no doors, just paths, and you create the doors as you walk through them. It's almost unnerving how she can simply feel where she needs to go.

"Allison, before you go, there's something I should mention."

Allison turns, quirking in surprise when she realizes Lilith's outfit is back to normal. "What is it?"

"I like you. I do." She stands on the floor, looking impossibly beautiful, and deadly. "You're not very bright, but you've got heart, a very foolish one, but driven. You have some strengths, but you could use some work. I could help you. I could show you how to fight – truly fight – to where you no longer have to rely on the assistance of your...betters."

Allison isn't convinced, but there's something tempting about her offer – then again, it's Lilith, and she has never been one to simply lie down and take much of anything. But is she trustworthy?

"What's in it for you?" Allison doesn't want to align herself with demons – really, she doesn't – but angels haven't done her much good. They keep trying to kill her, for starters, and move her around like a chess piece. She doubts demons won't have hidden agendas but maybe, just maybe, if she plays the game right, she can use them in return.

"Oh, just the pleasure of your company," she smiles and Allison doesn't find much comfort in that. She gets closer to Allison, _too _close, until they're breathing the same air, and Allison tries to find the door behind her but it's not working – she's almost sure she had felt it just _there._ "I think an alliance between us, however small and full of, well, minor conditions, would be quite...advantageous to us both."

"Lilith," a male voice – John – and Allison finds him standing next to the bed, leaning on the bedpost, as if he had been watching all along and is very entertained by the whole thing. "Hands off."

Lilith raises her hands in defeat, albeit still smiling, with a little sway of her hips as she moves away to make a sizable distance between herself and Allison. "I hadn't even touched her. Yet."

John hasn't broken away from Allison's; even when speaking to Lilith, his eyes remain on Allison. "Good. I'd hate to have you meet Belial's fate."

"Of course, Lucifer," Lilith bows her head, her hand on her chest, and it looks like she's mocking him with her curtsy, her smile wide. "Just remember your rules, great serpent." Allison swallows at the nickname, a memory of the myth of Lilith and Lucifer – sometimes known as Samael in some literature – flashing before her eyes. "I can't touch her...but if she asks...if she asks, well, I aim to please."

Lilith disappears through the wall and Allison _swears_ she had heard something slither, like a snake, but she had seen a normal form – a beautiful, dangerous woman's form, but nothing snake-like.

When she turns her face away, John hasn't moved, nor has he stopped looking at her. It's almost as worse as when Lilith was staring. With John, something's different, something has changed...it's almost like he's trying to be careful around her, hesitating.

She clears her throat, "So, that was Lilith..." she looks around the room. Just a bed, a rather large bed, with a canopy and bed posts making it look...majestic. But the room itself is surrounded by bookshelves, floors of books, tables, and on the ceiling, there's a mirror. She vaguely remembers looking up during... "Lilith was inside your bedroom."

The corner of his lips turn, "She's one of my best soldiers. She's allowed certain...liberties."

"Like bearing your demonic spawn?" That was part of the myth as well, far as she remembers.

"Allison, really, tsk," he puts his hands behind his back, heads over in her direction, "have we learned nothing from living in the past?" When he reaches her, he leans in, his mouth touching her ear, "You are mine now. I am yours. I may be many things, but really, Allison, you wound me." She shoves him away, half smiling, and he pins her with his body, against the wall. His hand starts touching her leg, lifting her skirt and it's hard to believe they had spent all night doing so many things and yet...she still feels the hunger for him.

"I found him." He whispers in her ear, nibbling on her lobe.

Allison doesn't register the sentence – not quite – not when his hands are almost... "Him? Wait, Blades. Joseph Blades." She's trying to shake him off, to push him off, but he presses himself closer – his groin is on full alert. "John, I need–"

He pulls his face far enough so that their eyes meet, but their lips are not that far apart. "I know, Allison, and I will tell you. I will let you go, but before that, a parting gift."

She's not sure who tore at whose clothes first, but they don't make it to the bed, and she is reminded, yet again, of why she cannot leave. It's not the act, but the desperation behind the act – he can't get enough of her, she keeps needing more, so much _wanting_.

She doesn't remember how much time passed – how many times did they...she doesn't know – but when she awakes, it's in her own bed. No John, no Lilith, but an envelope. When she turns it, to try and open the seal, she reads his writing.

_May you find just what you're looking for._

Once she opens it, there are some news articles of a woman dying in a car accident, an officer losing his badge, a business card with Mr. Blades name on it. Private Investigator. But how are they all connected?

* * *

Joseph Blades wakes up, the headache forming, a result of nightmares and alcohol. He coughs, reaches for the nearest glass and nearly chokes – clearly not water.

He wipes a hand over his face, stubble prickling at his skin, and his hair is falling over his forehead, tousled by the tossing and turning, no doubt.

He rubs the back of his neck and stops when he notices his phone flashing. He reaches for it, looking over some e-mail alerts, a couple of text messages from his sister and a voicemail. Just a voicemail.

He doesn't recognize the number, but he checks it anyway, rubbing his eyes. The call came in shortly after he fell asleep, he calculates, hearing the recording, and then the voice.

The caller.

His blood turns cold. "Joseph. Help me. Joseph. Help! I need you. It's dark and cold...so cold. Joseph? Find me. Find me. Please!" The call ends and he can only press the phone against his lips, eyes closed, seeing the ghost of his nightmares on the back of his eyelids.

A sob ripples through his chest and his eyes open, seeing the coffee table covered with half-empty liquor bottles.

With one arm, he sends them all to the floor, some breaking, some spilling everything and he has no more will.

He's tried to find her – he's tried to make the nightmares stop – but there is nothing to explain what has been happening.

His wife died in a car crash as a result of a drunk truck driver. The truck driver confessed and was apprehended. There were no further investigations. And yet, he can't stop dreaming about her, his wife, telling her to find him, that there is more to the story than there is. He's followed a couple of leads but one got him too close to a lawsuit and the other a warning from one of the cops he used to work with. He's seen his wife body in the morgue. He buried her. And yet, he knows her voice. He has heard her voice time and time again. And yet he cannot deny that he buried her.

He can't keep running around in circles. There's nothing he can find – nothing leading him to the truth – and he's useless.

She needs him and he can't help her.

There are no answers he can find, no leads he can follow, there's just this.

Always this.

* * *

**After thought:** So, my boyfriend and I have been playing chess a lot (though, not lately, since he has now been hooked on Doctor Who and we're now waiting on season 7 to get on Netflix) and, according to him, I think like a chess game. This story...is starting to be a little like chess.


	6. Time to Save a Life

**Stating the Obvious:** The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **This one was kind of slow to write but it was a hard day at work and it's especially hard to try to look over everything when I'm playing the homemaker. However, I like how things are piecing together. Lilith is slowly becoming my favorite character, though it's going to take time for she to get where she needs to be and, surprisingly, yeah, she'll end up with a more important role than I initially imagined her as. Go figure. To Pirate Lass, oh my gosh, I remember seeing that such a long time ago! Okay, maybe not that long of a time, but I don't remember the last time I saw it, just how awesome it was. I'd forgotten about Lilith there. To be honest, in my head, Lilith is this hardcore biker chick who puts up with no one's bull but still manages to do what she's told, in her own way, for more than just one reason. Hopefully, it'll become apparent here.

* * *

**Chapter 5****.** Time to Save a Life

* * *

John is standing in what will be the center of the storm – this is where it will all begin – where it is calm and so unlike what he's used to.

He's wearing his most lethal attire, his suit and shades, signaling that he means only business.

"And so it begins." Behind him, a female voice speaks in a low voice – sultry, as always – but it no longer has any kind of effect on him. She takes a few steps closer to him until she's ahead of him, touching one of the pillars that surround the front porch of yet another house that will be claimed as part of his domain, even on earth.

Lilith turns her face, her suit slightly different than his – the color is the same, pure black, but she wears blood red heels and her inside shirt a darker red, her hair almost burning with the same color. She gives the look a slightly different feel which has always made her as dangerous as he is, almost.

"Mephistopheles is in place," she informs him blandly, but he can tell by her eyes that she wants to talk about something else entirely.

"Belial?" John doesn't smile, doesn't even give her the courtesy of meeting her eyes.

"He," she smiles, licking her lips, "declined. I enjoyed him after that."

Knowing Lilith, the punishment will probably cause Belial to be out for a few years – too bad.

"Beelzebub?" By the look on her face, he knows she's becoming somewhat aggravated – he knows where they are. He always knows. He feels them. But he wants to make sure she can, too. She needs to learn.

"En route." She sticks her hands in her pockets, eyebrow raised, "You know what I'm thinking."

"And it's still not enough to make blush," he manages with a serious face and, yes, it earns him a smirk, but she shakes her head.

"All right, then, fair point, I'm always thinking that, but it has been a very long, long time..." She sways her hips with every step until she's right in front of him, her fingers leaving burn marks on his neck. He doesn't flinch but stops her hand before it reaches the opening of his blouse.

She smiles wider, taking her hand back, "Which brings us to the matter at hand. The pretty one. Allison." His facial expression remains blank as she continues, "You could've lied."

He owes her no explanations, but he has placed himself in a position he never once anticipated. It's almost exciting, in a twisted and sadistic sort of way – his favorite. "She would've found her own way."

"Not in time to stop it," she mutters.

That brings forth a smile, "Allison may be resilient monkey, but I can assure you, even she will not stop what's coming."

Lilith furrows her eyebrows, a slight frown touching her face. She turns around, looking towards the horizon as she moves to lean on the pillar, "When I met you, I thought you were brilliant. You offered so much freedom, so much room to play and just...rebel. Feelings He never gave me, power He never offered, pleasures He never showed me." She looks over her shoulder, "Now...you've turned..."

He doesn't want the conversation to go that far, so he cuts her off. "Consider your words carefully, Lilith. Freedom, you may have but do not question me."

"So much for freedom," she mutters and they both smile-neither of them take offense; they're both old enough to know when they're being cross with each other and when they're just basking in the dry humor their honesty can bring.

"You're free to speak your mind, Lilith," his smile widens, "contesting my decisions, however…"

She chuckles, "Weren't you cast out for questioning and trying put yourself above Him?"

His lips thin, "Say your words, Lilith."

Her smile fades, "She means something to you. I can understand that. He," and John knows she doesn't mean God, "meant something for me, too, though that didn't end well…as we know. I see you walking down a path that will lead you further away from her, not closer, so my question is…what are you planning?"

He smiles, baring his teeth, "What do you see?"

All angels, even the fallen, have a precognitive ability to feel things. The future is always in flux. They see outcomes, possibilities, key events and the presence of very important elements – mortals – that can alter the course of an entire lifetime.

Allison had been – still is – one of those monkeys.

Lilith's face grows even more grim – even she doesn't like their odds – and they're too many variables now. Things were simpler when Allison didn't know – before Gabriel decided to make his move – but now…now there are too many decisions to be made.

"She will find him…" Her eyes become dark, focused. "Her first kill…she will find us…too soon…Lucifer," her eyes returns to normal, watching in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

He sees dust rising in the distance, a car heading in their direction – Beelzebub.

Let the games begin.

He takes a step forward, wearing his best non-menacing smile to greet their guest.

"That is just one outcome, Lilith. There are still other choices to be made."

Lilith scoffs, but assumes her position like a good little soldier, albeit a pissed off one. "No, she won't." She sighs, "When you bonded with her, I thought it was the most brilliant thing you've ever done. Foolproof, really, even if it was a bit impulsive and cruel. But this? This is wrong, Lucifer."

The car stops in front of them, with tinted windows, and he knows the conversation needs to end now. "Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

They both watch as Beelzebub, wearing a similar suit, blonde hair tied in a ponytail and wearing the same kind of shades, opens the passenger door and John is ready to embrace the woman who leaps into his arm – a woman that is not his Allison.

* * *

Joseph holds the gun in his hand – the last gun, the only one his sister didn't find and his partner didn't take away after he lost his job.

It was his wife's gun – a gift from him.

He stares into the barrel, his mind in a fog, his mouth dry – thirsty, after so much alcohol – and he thinks, _no, not like this. _

He cannot meet the end with her gun, but then how?

* * *

Allison is standing just outside the building – where John said she could find Joseph Blades – and she looks at the buzzers, scanning through each name until he finds him.

John's words resonate in her mind.

Why not let the world end?

_Because it wouldn't end the way it's supposed to_, she tells herself.

But how does she know how the world should end? She doesn't. Not really. But she knows John's way…it's not God's way. And that is the real battle inside of her. She wants John. She wants to be with him – all of him. She gave herself to him, in hell, completely. She doesn't know what she was thinking – to be truthful, she hadn't been thinking at all – she had been feeling too much; his gaze, his touch, his desperation, every other emotion had stirred up something inside of her…and she couldn't keep it from pouring out.

And yet, it's still not enough. She can't turn away from what she is – what she isn't – and who she'll always be.

She raises her hand, ready to ring the buzzer, when someone opens the door from the inside and she freezes, glancing in that direction.

She doesn't recognize the man, but she knows the feeling, and she watches as he walks away, her voice trapped in her throat.

Long dark coat.

_John wouldn't_, she thinks – _hopes_.

She runs up the stairs, all the way to the third floor, and she turns in a circle, trying to find the direction of apartment 3D.

She turns left, noticing the C and the D is not too far off, the door closed. Her new life has granted her many things and she can sense it – death.

"No, no, no!" She does not know where she finds the strength – or that she even had it all this time – but she slams the side of her body, full force, on the door until the hinges break off.

The first thing she sees is a man hanging from a rope by the neck, and a chair on the floor nearby. She drags the chair towards him, almost jumping on it as soon as it's off the floor, and she pulls her knife from the sheath, standing on her tiptoes to cut the rope while pulling him against her.

She starts using the blade to cut through – it's sharp enough and does not take too long – but as soon as it snaps, she starts to feel gravity pulling her back and she breaks his fall perfectly. The pain shoots up her spine and neck, making her swear under her breath. She sets herself right, trying to ignore the pain as she pushes him off her, letting him lie on his back and she loosens the noose, leaning her ear towards his face.

How long ago did it happen?

She doesn't have time to think.

She kneels next to him, trying to remember the CPR she had taken, one life ago.

Between the compressions and the breathing, she's starting to lose hope in this man – a man she doesn't know, doesn't owe anything to, yet needs to have alive.

Her lips touch his again, and his hand moves to shove her off, as he gasps and coughs a smoker's cough, raspy and dry, turning to his side until he's facedown, forehead meeting the floor. Allison sits, her side resting on an armchair and she covers her mouth, watching as the man who just tried to kill himself tries to breathe back life into his lungs.

She had never saved a life. On the contrary, her life had been surrounded by death. Her parents, Father Constantin, Maria, Danny, Dylan, then her second set of parents…and now, she has finally saved someone.

He's breathing steadier now, his hands closed into fists, and he pushes himself up into a seating position, looking like a mess. His eyes are not something she had expected, crystal blue and cold. He looks extremely pissed off.

The next words out of his mouth are not what she'd been expecting from the first person whose life she just saved. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

* * *

**After thought: **Unsure of how long it'll take for this to conclude...but it's starting to drive me nuts. Especially John. He's keeping things from me...I know something of what he's planning, but not all, and well, as the one writing this...that does not bode well. Sigh.


	7. When a Ghost Becomes Something Worse

**Stating the Obvious: **The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer: **I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note:** Don't hurt me. Please. But I actually had this chapter written long ago, I just hadn't uploaded it (I like to hold chapters hostage until I write the following chapter so that way I can have an idea to what I'm tying it to without having to go back and change much). Real life has been hectic...a very important family member passing...friends being diagnosed with incurable diseases...my birthday...my anniversary...these last couple of months have been completely overwhelming, personal and business life, that my muse had retreated to the back of my mind so I wouldn't allow myself to care for much of anything until I could handle all the emotions and not push them into my writing, if that makes any sense. Without further ado, here's my attempt at giving Allison yet another mission to fail...or succeed? We'll see.

* * *

**Chapter 6. **When a Ghost Becomes Something Worse

* * *

Joseph is sitting on the couch across from her, beer bottle in hand – a little too early for beer, but for a guy who just tried to kill himself, she figures the drink of choice would be beer or hard liquor. Judging from the empty bottles of Jack Daniels, beer is probably the only thing he has left.

However, for someone who has been to hell – and heaven – and back, his stare is still unnerving.

Then again, she shouldn't have introduced herself with, "I'm saving your life so we can stop the world from ending, you asshole."

In her defense, her back, neck and ribs hurt from the weight of a man over 200 pounds and just when she thought she had accomplished something by saving a life, he had snapped at her for saving his life.

Sometimes she understands why John is the way he is…though she ushers that thought away from her head. She musn't try to think like John now, of all times.

She's touching her ribs – her chest is kind of sore – and rubbing the back of her neck, thinking of the best way to explain things – in her experience, it's best to just go with the truth. What's the worst he can do? Have her sent to a mental institution or call the cops, his former buddies?

"You know, a couple of months ago, I probably would've pulled some strings and had you go on your way in a straightjacket," he fishes something from his pocket – cigarette box – placing one between his lips. "But being as I've been getting calls from my dead wife, I'm willing to give you a little leeway." She notices how his hand trembles as he lights the cigarette with nearby matches.

She frowns, "Your wife…" He locks eyes with her, unblinking, stopping the cigarette from touching the ashtray until she finishes. "She is dead, Mr. Blades. Detective Blades," she corrects.

"Not anymore. What do you know about my wife?" He leans forward, his elbows resting on his legs.

She decides on baby steps. "Do you believe in God, Mr. Blades?"

He quirks a brow. "My wife was catholic…I'm not so sure anymore."

She nods in understanding. "What if I told you God is real, very real, and so is everything else we know and a lot of it we don't know?" Off his quirked brow, "Angels…they're not all good…not all sane." That makes her think of Gabriel. "There's a war, in heaven, amongst angels. It's been going on for a very long time. It's been stopped before but…peace doesn't last long."

"In heaven," he asks, staring at her blankly.

"Yes," she sighs. "I know it sounds crazy. I thought I was crazy at first, but it's real. It's all real."

He lets the ashes drop from the cigarette before taking another puff and he leans back, arms resting on the back of the couch, "Let's pretend I believe you. What does this have to do with my wife?"

That's the part that she hadn't been looking forward to explaining. "The war…it's keeping souls from moving on, from getting into heaven."

She notes the change in his eyes – whether he believes her or not, she isn't sure, but what she's saying must make sense to him – she hopes.

"So…you're saying my wife is trapped." He doesn't sound convinced, yet, but he doesn't like the idea of what may or may not be true.

"Yes. They all are," he's about to say something but she holds her hand up, shaking her head, "but that's not why you're seeing her. That's why I came to see you. You're not supposed to be seeing her." She speeds up, noticing how his face is getting a little red, "There are too many souls trapped...your wife can't be the only one slipping through." It takes her a second to realize she probably shouldn't have said that.

"Why not?" His hands close into fists, "I know my wife. If she's trapped somewhere, she's going to get out." His eyes move towards a bookcase across the room; there aren't just books there, but picture frames – very few of them have him in it.

Allison follows his gaze and her heart drops.

She walks closer – unsure if she should, but she feels like she needs to.

The woman is beautiful. Auburn hair, a smile wide enough to bright up and entire room and, that's just the thing. She's smiling in all the pictures. She's standing with a group of men – her husband included – wearing a bowling team shirt, from the looks of it, and she barely reaches their shoulders in height, but she's still smiling, fearless and triumphant.

Allison looks back at Joseph…suddenly she understands. When she returns her gaze to look at the pictures again, she feels it. There's something heavy around them. It's almost within reach…it reminds her of hell.

Then she sees it, blood running over the picture frames and she walks backwards, further away, until Joseph's hand grabs her arm and stops her. He's looking at it, too, and his breathing accelerates, "Just keep watching."

She swallows, watching as the blood runs towards the floor, forming a dark red puddle and the smell…it's not like blood. She can smell a hint of iron, but there's something else, something rotten.

Her eyes widen as the puddle starts to move, to take shape, into letters, and suddenly she understands why Joseph tried to kill himself.

Help me. I'm so cold.

Allison blinks and it's gone; the blood, the words, everything. It's like it never happened.

"So, you're sure my wife isn't trying to get out?"

Allison doesn't look at him – doesn't want argue with him just then – but she has the feeling she knows where it's coming from.

"I think someone wants you dead," she mutters, walking toward the window and opening the latch until she's climbing out onto the fire escape. Then she sees him. The man she had seen walking out of the building…a fallen angel. One of his. She has a better view of him now – not just his retreating form – and sees a grin, a handsome face, and what looks like light brown hair, almost blonde.

"You bastard…you son of a bitch," she doesn't know where the words came from – a little of Hope stayed with her, even as Allison – and the realization hits her hard.

"What is it? Who's that?" He's seeing what she's seeing, but he doesn't know what she knows – doesn't know _him_ like she does.

Allison doesn't answer him right then. She turns, climbing in until she's past him, picking up her knife from the floor – that had been a careless move – and thinking on what her next move should be.

"You're not crazy. Someone's after you and, until I figure out why, you'll have to stick with me." She's about to head towards the door when he grabs her arm, pulls her against him and then shoves her against the wall. She almost forgot just how large he is – considering how he had landed on her – he is rather bulky, the perfect bodyguard, and now he has her pinned.

"Who are you?"

She decides to go with the truth – all of it. "My name is Allison. I've been alive longer than you, probably because I died two times and was brought back. I'm a nephalim. Half angel, half human. The first time I died, it was for a book, to keep the angels from trying to get an advantage on the wrong side of the war. The second time, I died to stop the anti-Christ from making hell on earth. And I'm trying to do the right thing again, but you're too busy thinking I'm crazy and that your wife's soul is haunting you. It's not. They are. Fallen angels. One of them was standing outside. They mess with your head. They take away the people you love and then they don't let you forget it. They'll use it against you, but it doesn't mean it's really them."

She doesn't realize she's crying until he backs away, letting go of her arms, so she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and crosses her arms.

"Who did you lose?" He asks once they both realize she's not talking.

Everybody, she almost says, but doesn't. "My parents," she mutters, deciding to leave it at that. It all started in the beginning, so it's not like she's lying, but everything else she knows is crawling inside her skin – everyone else she's seen die before her very eyes.

She can't stop now. She can't break down, she can't stop and she can't hide. She's learned that lessons too many times now.

"Okay. I have a feeling you're not the most sane person, but you're the only one that's made the most sense since…well, since my wife died, and that's not saying much," he rubs his hand over his face. "Answer this, though…why me? And if they're out to get me…did they kill my wife?"

Her eyes widen and she asks herself that same question. Why him? He's a drunk, hulk of a man, not religious, not the pinnacle of morality, but his wife…she almost looks like an angel. Would that be reason for them to kill her?

"I…I don't know," she answers honestly. She slumps in the nearest chair, deciding she's not yet moving from their current location. The presence is gone and she can't chase it – not with Joseph to worry about, not without a plan. "I wouldn't put it past them…but why? Was your wife involved in the church? Was she acting weird before she died? Did she find anything…tell you about anything weird?"

He looks at her like she's the weird one but he finally exhales and shakes his head. "We went to church, sometimes, though it was mostly just her…but she wasn't acting weird…no weirder than usual," he smiled miserably.

Allison hoped they weren't about to uncover something he didn't want to know, or else he'd probably be finding another rope to hang from. "Was there anyone she might've been talking to…? Anyone who might've known something?"

"I used to be a cop, kid. I've exhausted all the contacts I know." And got fired for it, she figures.

"Family members?" She suggests.

"Every contact but that," he added, closing his eyes. Then, without opening his eyes, "They've blocked my calls. They won't talk to me." Off her look, "When Leah died…it's when it started. I tried telling them about it…I might've accused her stepfather of doing it."

"Might've?" She quirks a brow.

"There was a gun involved," he mumbles.

"Right. Okay." The situation with her family was a disaster, probably, but it's a start – better than nothing. "Do you still have their numbers?" He opens his eyes, reading her thoughts. "And I'm going to need…some information about your wife…anything you can give me."

The next hour that passes is eerily normal, even for her. She is on the phone with Leah's mother while Joseph just watches, writing on a notepad whenever she needs extra details to make their story plausible. She's an old high school friend, well, "acquaintance" really, but Leah had been kind to everyone, so she wasn't someone anyone could forget.

Allison has to create a story about a possible high school reunion and their plans of creating a slide show in tribute to Leah. Allison feels like she's going to hell – been there, done that – as soon as she says it, but her mother gobbles it up and begins to offer ideas. As the conversation continues – even though he only hears Allison's side, he can imagine what Leah's mother is saying well enough – Joseph begins to clean out empty bottles, plates of half-eaten food and empty glasses around the apartment.

He disappears into the bedroom and Allison feels like following him, but his mother-in-law is in a rant and she doesn't want to miss anything.

"…I think it was harder on us knowing she was the only one who could bring our Emma back."

The introduction of a new name into the story sparks her interest, "What happened to Emma?" She continues to pretend she knows more than she actually does, even though she has no idea who Emma is – could be a dog for all she knows.

"My youngest daughter…she ran away some time before Leah died," Allison can hear the woman sniffling, trying to keep the tears at bay, "she had been going through some things…she'd been having nightmares, she would tell us she was being followed, God, I don't know." The woman was crying audibly now, "Leah was trying to help. She found Emma. She had found her and she was coming to talk to us…that was the night of the accident."

She could feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears, "Oh God," she whispers.

"I'm sorry," she sniffles, "would you mind calling me back? Maybe tomorrow. I think—"

Allison cut her off with as much sympathy as she could muster, her voice shaking a little – for more than just the one reason, "Yes, yes, of course. I'm so sorry, I didn't—" She didn't think lying would be so easy, so simple, and yet the results would be more than she bargained for…stomping on an already broken heart. "I will call again, goodbye, Mrs. Holder."

They say their farewells and Allison could only hold the phone against her chest as she thinks of…everything.

Joseph isn't the center of their focus…nor his wife. They were just collateral damage. Emma. She had been having bad dreams, acting a little crazy – which, in the realm of angels and demons, probably means normal – and Leah had died because of it…but…if her husband was a cop, how could he not know?

"Mr. Blades?" She calls out, nearing the bedroom. He steps out of the door, running the towel over his face – clean clothes, pair of jeans, plain black buttoned shirt and boots, not the type you hike with, but the kind you show off.

"Just Joseph. Did you find a lead?" He's going back into the bedroom and she follows, seeing how the bedroom is a bigger mess than the living room was but she decides now is not the time to comment about hygiene.

He's lifting up a pillow, finding something under it, and she just goes straight to the point, "What do you know about Emma?" When he turns, he has a gun in his hand and she swallows. He looks at her and the gun, reading her expression, "This is-was Leah's. It's the only one they couldn't find. And I don't know any Emma. Why? Who is she?"

Allison's jaw almost drops.

"Your wife's sister. You didn't know your wife had a sister?" Allison feels like she's just entered a very large web…full of lies…but who is the liar?

John. Gabriel. Michael?

Everybody lies, she thinks.

"My wife…" his stare looks blank, confused. "She doesn't have a sister…"

"Joseph," she approaches him cautiously, "I'm going to take you to someone that might be able to help you…"

"Help me how?" His hand is on his gun, the paranoia hitting him in full force. They've done more than just mess with his head – his dreams – they've been messing with his memory and she knows of one angel with experience in the field.

Gabriel.

* * *

**After thought:** Like it? Hate it? I can't say I like it very much. Mainly because Joseph hasn't really grown on me. Heck, Leah is only mentioned and has won me over, and that is just through the facts expressed through the photographs she's mentioned in. That's it. Joseph is just...a tool. A plot tool and until he proves himself to be a character, I'm probably going to continue to write him with a grimace. Sorry. Oh, more John and Lilith on the next chapter. Mmm-hmm. And Gabriel and Allison. For some reason, I like it when these two get together. Interesting pair.


	8. Choosing Sides

**Stating the Obvious:** The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note:** You guys have no idea how happy it makes me to hear (well, read) how the story directs your thoughts and predictions. Now, I already have a feeling on how this is going to end (there's a possibility of two ways...maybe three...nope, two), one happy, one not so happy, so I'm still on the fence about that. And, wow, to have these two compared to Shades of Grey...it's interesting. I, myself, keep thinking Jareth and Sarah (Labyrinth was my favorite movie as a child, and I still say I would've gleefully picked the Goblin King...yeah, I have issues), or even Phoebe and Cole (now that's a pair that broke my heart to smithereens) from Charmed. Nevertheless, I love these two, not because they stand on opposite sides but in _spite_ of the fact that they're on opposite sides and one has something the other needs and viceversa, but they don't really understand it...they're like magnets, but even while on opposite sides, repelling each other, they still can draw themselves to each other far too easily...(and that's what those little know-it-all archs are counting on).

And **Hecate**, as for your predictions *applauds* that is all I have to say (though you might've missed the mark on one or two things, it's not really a miss, as much as it is...tiny little differences but you're close!) I will say this about Lilith...she thinks she saw how it's going to end but, in truth, the prophecy is being written as actions occur. You cannot predict actions, only outcomes from those actions, but the actions are yet to be decided, and being as some actions are predictable, but some depend on another, well...it's a matter of time (and cruel because, well, you'll find it. Lets just say, Lilith may be an, err, interesting individual, but she does believe in the saying, "If you truly love something, let it go. Seriously, it might give you a disease, like caring.")

* * *

**Chapter 7. **Choosing Sides

* * *

"I heard you sent Beelzebub on an errand," Lilith meets John in his office, where he's pretending to play a very important CEO – which he, in a sense, is – of a company that doesn't exist while the Mephistopheles plays a very important friend to their mortal guest on the terrace, with a view of the acres of land and the mansion's lavish pool.

"He has a way of completing tasks in a very efficient manner," John answers without second-thought, his fingers holding a pen between his fingers, moving quickly across the page.

Lilith's smile is devious; standing in front of his desk, she holds her fingers in front of her, gazing at her blood-red manicured nails. "Just when he was about to kill his mark and thwart the plans of your precious Allison?"

That stops John's hand and, somehow, he smiles. He doesn't hide things from Lilith and she _is_ cunning. Indeed, one of God's most impressive creations.

He puts the pen down, sitting back on the chair and touching his fingertips together, "It was a very important errand."

She quirks a brow, "To interrupt negotiations of peace between feuding countries? Don't we get a chance to do that every other Monday?" Off his grin, she rolls her eyes, "This is Armageddon. We're on a schedule, Lucifer."

And he laughs, softly, at how much she sounds like what a pestering sibling should be like – not that he'd know.

"Lucifer, I'm serious," and that piques his curiosity, but he keeps his smile, as she continues, "There are others starting to question you. They know what you did with Allison. They know what you did with Beelzebub. You can't – you can't come to her rescue every time her emotions pike – think of the pregnancies."

Leave it to Lilith to end something with humor. He's able to keep his mask, but inside, he's been sensing this since the moment he did it. But he had to. She had returned for him, he would help her stay – against her own will, if he must...if she'll have him.

"Answer me this," he joins his hands over his lap, legs crossed, "if they were to turn on me, which side would you be on?"

"Yours," she says immediately, rolling her eyes.

He raises a finger, "Why?" He may be their ruler, but unlike His father, following him is a choice, should someone rebel, he welcomes it, and he would prove them unworthy of the task by beating them. After all, rebellion is his game, and none in his realm has been able to best him...yet.

"Because...you're our leader. You can be an idiot, but you've never been dull, and whatever risks you may be taking, they would be no different than the one I took when I first defied Him. I would advise you against your actions, because it goes against your original plans, but I'll follow you until the end, even if you bump it back again a decade or two." Her answer is so casual, so without passion, that he wonders if she truly is an exceptional actress or if she truly doesn't care and is in it for the ride. With Lilith, it is usually the latter, but he has to be sure; there can be no doubt of her loyalties.

He turns the chair, looking out the long window behind him, "If we succeed, we will create hell on earth, convert all the souls we need to overturn heaven itself – too busy fighting amongst themselves, they cannot even begin to realize the powers they're losing as they will soon fall from His grace. It's why we placed the seed in the first place, to let them be their own demise." He turns around, returning his gaze to her.

"But?" Lilith knows his words are not meant to be informative – she knows all this, and Lucifer is not one to repeat himself.

He leans forward, eyes boring into hers, "She has followed me with every life she's had, even when she tried to run from me. She has chosen me, even when I did not deem her interesting enough for my choosing. She has turned away from Him, fleeting a moment as that might've been, for me. And yet I will create an end to a world that she has continuously tried to save. Tell me again, Lilith, would you be on my side?"

The silence in the room is enough to drown them both, but neither of them blink, they hardly even breathe.

"If?" It's like she knows what he's thinking, what's he's not saying, but she wants him to prove her wrong, to prove her that he hasn't lost his mind.

He smiles, "If the plans changed, of course."

* * *

"And when you were sixteen, you paid Robert Emerson to make a homemade explosive which you then used against your sister's ex-boyfriend…and his car. And you never told anyone." Gabriel smiles at Joseph – that same smile that makes Allison's skin crawl.

She hadn't asked Gabriel to prove who he is to Joseph – she had only sat down, introduced him and then Joseph had laughed – mockingly – saying he had expected someone a little more…impressive.

Well, apparently, even angels have their egos – Gabriel, though, proved that egos can sometimes resemble rattlesnakes.

"Are you done?" Joseph isn't amused – nor impressed – by Gabriel's ability to read his past like an open book.

Gabriel's eyes turn cold, almost vicious. "Are you?"

Allison rolls her eyes, "Gabriel, I did what you asked, now I need you to help me." That turns their attention to her.

Gabriel smiles and looks down at his plate, using his knife to break the yolk of his eggs, "By doing what, exactly?"

Allison rolls her eyes, not wanting to waste any time with his evasion, "Joseph doesn't remember his wife's sister. That kind of reminds me of a time when I didn't remember a certain visit to my room."

The accusation is obvious, but Gabriel pretends looks unfazed, holding the fork in one hand and the knife in the other, "Are you indicating I had something to do with it, Allison?"

Allison's eyes narrow, "If the halo fits." She sighs, "Either you did or you didn't, but if you didn't, you could tell me who did."

"You're learning," he smiles, wiping his lower lip with a napkin before he sets it down on the table, hand reaching for his cup, "Immortals leave a signature, a trace, easily recognized by other immortals. There is a chance I might know the angel in question, but Mr. Blades needs to look deep into my eyes for me to do my work."

"Are you kidding me?" Joseph's immediate response comes to no surprise.

Allison frowns, "Gabriel."

"It's not a question, nephalim, it's a fact. Or did you forget how I made you remember what I hid so well? You yourself volunteered. Such a helpful little nephalim. So full of faith," he finishes mockingly.

She swallows, remembering it well. It hurts her, not just because of what he did to her, but because of why he had done it.

She wasn't just a tool to stop Mikael's attempt to reign on Earth...she was a sacrifice. A willing sacrifice.

Is that what Emma is? What Leah was? What Joseph will, inevitably, become?

"Do it, Joseph," Allison's eyes remain on Gabriel, challenging. "He's telling the truth."

Joseph looks like he wants to argue, but doesn't, and he clears his throat, taking off his shades and setting them down on the table. He leans forward, his chest almost touching the table, when Gabriel edges to imitate his stance, yet with a far darker position.

Allison wonders how many other people are watching, but the diner is not really busy. Gabriel is a regular here, she knows, and wonders if this means the people here know what he is..._who_ he is.

Gabriel lifts his hands, about to reach out for Joseph's face, when the mortal immediately moves back, away from Gabriel's touch. Gabriel's brow rises, his lips thinning, "I may have all of eternity to look forward to, but I can't say the same for my patience."

"Joseph," Allison reaches for his hand under the table – the one that is also nearing his gun – and squeezes, "trust me."

Joseph doesn't trust either of them – or anything, really – but he moves closer to Gabriel's reach, brows furrowed. The archangel doesn't waste another moment, his hands grabbing the man's face in such a way, Allison is looking around them, trying to see if anyone is grabbing a phone or if they'll be hearing sirens soon.

When Gabriel lets go, his expression is of clear distaste, and he reaches for the glass of water.

"What did you see?" Allison notices how Joseph is breathing hard, but waits for Gabriel to respond – to give her something – before she asks the man if he's okay; besides, she's had something similar done to her. She knows the answer well enough.

"You're right. Someone did tamper with his mind. A fallen." Gabriel is wiping his hands off, using the nearest napkin, "There are still traces of his memory, but they're like the edges of a puzzle, every other piece has been erased, nothing like the work I did on you. This one was a very clean job – they knew what they were doing." His smile almost makes Allison shudder. "There's a chance he'll be able to remember some things... He just needs the right things to trigger the memories for him, but it won't be the same. Some pieces will remain lost." Gabriel states, nonchalant.

"So my wife had a sister...and they made me forget her. Why?" His eyes are resolved – if he didn't believe before, there's not a doubt that he's a believer now. She wonders if Gabriel showed him something to inspire the sudden leap of faith.

Gabriel gives him a sideways glance, bored. "Detectives. They tend to miss the obvious." He leans back on the bench, "You're a detective, Mr. Blades. Think."

Allison wants to spare them _both_ the games of an archangel; she turns to face Joseph, "If Emma was missing, wasn't it possible you were helping Leah find her? And if Emma is why they killed Leah, then she might still be alive. You wouldn't have stopped looking for Emma if you remembered, and you might've started remembering on your own unless they distracted you with something, like your wife's ghost."

Gabriel claps three times, exactly, and winks at the detective. "To be fair, the puppet has learned from the puppeteers themselves."

Allison rolls her eyes, but it's Joseph's turn to speak. "Why would they want Leah's...sister?"

Gabriel moves to stand, Allison's heart nearly falls, "Where are you going?"

"I've done what you asked of me, nothing more. For now, you're on your own...until we meet again," he smiles, but before he even turns, Allison stops him, her voice heavy, tired, and he recognizes it almost instantly, that darkness, but he won't tell her that.

"You know, he told me the same thing." Her eyes are hard, but he knows – he knows her far too well – there are tears behind them, tears that will fall when her heart does. "When I needed his help, to find Joseph, he told me where I could find him and then told me that would be it...what are you leading me to? Both of you, both sides, playing me against each other, one trying to save something, the other trying to destroy it. What are you making me do?"

Gabriel's pride flickers – a pride, even as a sin, is popular amongst many, immortals and mortals alike. She knows. She knows they're both playing the game, and she will always be the main piece. Will her knowledge of it change the outcome this soon in the game?

He smiles in anticipation, "I think, Allison, the question you should be asking is what side will you be on. You answer me that, Allison, without a doubt, and I will answer yours."

She can't answer him, he knows, not then, not without confirming that which has already been revealed to her.

Gabriel leaves them, feeling something surprising – something he has not felt for so long, least of all for a monkey.

He feels pity.

* * *

**After thought:** I love Lilith. If this hasn't been made obvious, I'm sorry. I also love Gabriel. I'd watch the first two Prophecy movies and be freaked out like you would not believe. Christopher Walken is just amazing. So, um, yes, thoughts? Well, you're right, Allison now knows she's been used and lied to, and of course, she's going to have to pick a side. This time, there won't be an in between. Either good wins and evil loses or evil wins and good loses...though, good has less of a chance being as they have their own war dividing their ranks. So, I guess, the question is...well, the question is blank blank blank because I'm not getting ahead of myself just yet ;-)


	9. The Past Slips Through the Cracks

**Stating the Obvious:** The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note:** You folk know how to pressure a girl. Wow. With those reviews. Gosh. How am I going to measure up? I almost got stage fright writing these chapters (yes, I've already written more than one...actually, all of them. It's the epilogue I am finding impossible to work with). I've managed to write all of the chapters thanks to the dentist visit. I had to take two days off work for a dental procedure. Root canal and a crown, on the same day? Not my best idea. Anyway, this chapter is...well, it's definitely my attempt at writing Joseph in order to give him an 'oomph'. I'm not sure I gave him an oomph. I gave him something, but still unconvinced :-( I'm rather sad that he's probably going to be the only character in this story not to stand on a podium and go, "WHO DA MAN?" in subtler words...and he's a detective *facepalm* This chapter just gives you more things to ponder on...not exactly my favorite, but the next one coming soon will be :-)

* * *

**Chapter 8. **The Past Slips Through the Cracks

* * *

Joseph watches as Allison looks through his work, her back turned to him. His work had never been a very...serious one. He had been booted off the force due to a case gone wrong – evidence had been tampered with, for which he took the fall, as he had been protecting someone else.

Leah had known, had wanted him to tell them, but he had refused. He then opened his own detective agency which was not much of an improvement, being as he mostly took adultery cases or had very extensive background checks done for people, including some private corporations.

It's been a long time since he's had a case that's given him this much adrenaline though, truth be told, he's never had a case quite like this one.

They're both stuck in his office looking for clues or evidence of what they had taken away.

_They._

Angels, demons; what would they want with Leah? With Emma? With him?

If he had really worked this case with Leah, then there has to be something here.

It's now clear; they made him forget because if he remembered for one second who killed his wife...and why...and about her missing sister, he would've never ever stopped looking.

He tries to remember if her parents had said anything to him about Emma after Leah's death but...he can't...it won't come to him. If he remembers anything, it's that it all started after Leah's death, after his fight with her family, that's when he began to hear her, to answer her calls, to see blood on the floor.

And then came Allison.

"Joseph, I need a key," Allison repeats – she had been talking to him, but he had been too lost in his thoughts to register.

He looks at the cabinet she's referring to and shakes his head, "There's nothing there. Just some supplies and snacks. Leah kept it there to make sure I didn't run out of stuff."

She nods, about to turn around and return to the stack of folders she had placed on a nearby table, but his brows furrow, something scratching at the back of his head

He ignores it for now.

He needs to shake away the thoughts, focus on finding her – Emma. The sister-in-law they made her forget.

He's about to type in his password, to his account on the computer, but he notices Leah's name under his. She never protected hers with a password.

_Unlike you, I have nothing to hide, and I don't want to have to fight to remember my password when I just want to play spider solitaire._

He smiles, clicking on the picture leading to her account, and he expects to see a picture of them – she'd always make him pose for those close-up pictures with her phone, always – but instead he is greeted with the view of a mansion, the kind of thing you'd see in Beverly Hills or faraway places with castles and rich people. It almost looks Roman, with the pillars, and green acres surrounding it, but something about it is familiar...almost as if he'd seen it before, but where?

Looking through her files, there's nothing out place. When Leah used his computer, it'd be mainly for the games or to work on her art projects since her laptop had a tendency to crash, a _lot._

There it is again, something gnawing at the back of his head.

It makes him look at the cabinet, it's as if something is trying to tell him something.

"Allison." The woman turns, a stack of pages in her hand. "Gabriel. He said I'd start remembering on my own. What exactly did he mean?"

She frowns, thoughtful, "Whatever memories they took from you are gone, but you still have traces of them...they're like...echos. Like you know there's something there, but don't know what."

"Like a déjà vu?" She shrugs in response, eyes curious as to where he's going with it. He fishes for his keys, swearing under his breath as he goes over to the cabinet. Unlocking it is easy, it creaks slightly as it opens and he feels the disappointment sink in. It's just like he had expected it to be. Some chips, a bottle of bourbon, paper, folders, pens, his camera, ink for the printer; everything looks as it usually is.

He smiles when he spots her box of chocolates. His Leah loved chocolates. She kept a box of them wherever she went. The only person, other than Leah, allowed to eat from the box was...

"Emma," his head hurts, even through the realization, but he doesn't care. He's remembering. He opens the box, hoping to get another memory, but instead he gets a picture.

He laughs, softly, "Leah...fucking A, Leah, you were the better detective out of us." And in her own way, she had been. She had left him a picture of the mansion on her profile of his desktop, knowing he'd be tempted to at least look, just to browse through the memories of them, and eventually, he would've gotten into the box, if at least to remember how he used to feed them to her, to buy her as many boxes as she wanted and Emma, of course, Emma would beg him to open the cabinet. She liked the chocolates, too.

The mansion means something, but more than that, there's still one hunch, something that confirmed that what he had been feeling about the cabinet was right – even though he had ignored it at first.

He goes towards the door, taking his jacket from one of the chairs.

"Where are we going?" Allison is already doing the same, following without question. He doesn't know what she is yet, or who she is, aside from what he's told her, but he feels she's trying to do the right thing – whatever the right thing might be.

"We're following another lead." He waits till she follows him out the door before he locks it behind them, "My wife had a laptop. It's not here. It's not at the apartment. But I have a feeling of where it might be."

He's looking around, once they touch the sidewalk, and Allison is doing the same. Everything looks normal. Allison follows him to his car, "Do you know what this means? Joseph...it means she knew. She knew about them. She knew they were looking for her."

He doesn't respond, doesn't want to put the topic up for discussion. Leah never kept secrets from him. She was his friend, his wife, but she didn't keep secrets. Not from him.

"Maybe," he mutters, knowing that he's not sure of anything anymore – not now. Not when some woman saved him from killing himself, saw the same thing no one else but him could see and called it an illusion...a trick.

And then there is Gabriel. The archangel. A character he had only heard of in hymns and in his mother's bible.

He doesn't feel like he knows anything at all.

* * *

_Over a month ago..._

Leah closes the door of her parent's house behind her, arms crossed, her eyes red from crying, her throat sore from arguing with her mother and her _idiot_ stepfather.

It's happened. Her sister is missing and it's all her fault.

"Leah," she hears the whisper in the wind and looks to the bench on the front porch. It's swinging but there's no one there and yet...she knows he's there.

She shudders, eyes closed. She's failed. She has failed them, failed _her_.

"Leah," her name is heard again and this time, she knows she can't ignore it. She heads over to the bench and somehow she knows _not_ to sit on the right side of it.

She takes her seat, her hands holding on to the edge of the bench, as if to prevent from being thrown off.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've kept a closer eye..."

"...yes, you should have," the voice is clearer now. It's him. "But it's too late for regrets. She's been found, but it's not over yet." Hope begins to form and she looks to her left, tries to see him, but can't.

"Can you tell me where she is?"

She can hear him sigh, "If only it were that simple. There are places, here on earth, considered to be hellmouths. Hell on earth. They're hidden from us. We cannot find them, we cannot touch them, we can only sense them and there are so very many..."

"Then how will I find her?"

"You have to ask your husband for help."

"No," she responds immediately. Joseph must not be involved. He can't be involved.

The voice chuckles softly. "When you were little girls, I told you a secret. I told you what you are, what Emma is, and you accepted it like it was the most important mission in the world. Most mortals are not open to us, their minds have a natural block, only through a flaw, a disease, if you will..."

She sighs, knowing full-well she has a condition, a _terminal_ condition, which has developed with time. She had a few cat scans done and they've all said the same. She will die. It's just a matter of time.

"...can they hear us, but even then, they do not accept us or speak to us as you do. You, Leah, are different. Or at least, you were," his voice drops. "I'd say you could've chosen not to fall in love, but then, I don't believe He made that to be a choice."

"If love was a choice, who would choose such exquisite pain?" She quotes a movie both Emma and herself loved to watch. "Will he be okay?"

"It's hard to say."

She swallows, "Will I be okay?"

"Even you know the answer to that." She doesn't respond, a tear falling down her cheek. She had hoped to live long enough to be a mother, a memory to those she loved and to enjoy every second of it. She didn't think it would be ending so soon. "Time is running out, Leah. Emma remains unmarked, for now, but eventually, she will choose, and when she does, humanity will lose the last chance it has to defend itself from a war...a war greater than any war the world has ever seen. A war without hope or faith. A dark war. A war between angels."

Leah takes a deep breath, wiping away the tears. "I thought...I thought she'd be safe with my mom. I thought I could have my own life and still watch over her." And she had been safe...but Emma had been too different, too headstrong, her mother too old-fashioned and wouldn't allow Emma the one thing she craved most – the one thing she was, personified.

Freedom.

"This is not the time for blame, Leah. Go to your husband. Tell him what's happened. He'll know how to find Emma. That is all you need to now. Now go."

She stands from the bench, heading for the steps, towards her car, but she looks back one last time, seeing the empty bench.

She doesn't know how she knows, but she does...she knows this will be the last time she'll speak to him.

"Goodbye, Simon."

* * *

**After thought: **I confess, that last scene came out of nowhere. I had no thought of including Leah in this, being as she's already dead, but it was an intriguing visual that I had. Using Simon was just _perfect_, being as he did the same for Allison and, for those who watched the first installment of the Prophecy, he's a character who tends to always go for humanity's side, in his own way. I also must confess that Joseph is growing on me...only a little bit. A tiny little bit. I think that's what I needed. To write him with a purpose other than suicide...but still, he has a long way to go.


	10. Leah's Last Words

**Stating the Obvious:** The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note:** Ah, this chapter. This _chapter_. Kills me. Just kills me. It's odd how an already _dead_ character makes me just want to...pinch cheeks. Sigh. And there I am again. Being odd. I'm sorry if this chapter comes a little late, especially since I already have the rest of the story planned out, but see, I don't like to release chapters so quickly because I re-read them a lot before uploading them, I add to it, I spellcheck (and yet some errors still slip by...sigh) and I think of other scenes that can go between. So, yes, not doing this on purpose...just giving myself a chance to improve the story :-) enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 9. **Leah's Last Words

* * *

Allison wonders if her schizophrenia had been meant to be a curse, hell's parting gift after choosing her family as their treasured tragedy, or had it been meant to be a gift, one that allowed her the destiny of being the pawn of so many?

But a gift to whom? Not her.

She wouldn't have chosen this for herself – not even she is that self-sacrificing.

She was born into this, pushed onto the path, and now there's no turning back.

She follows Joseph into an electronics store, constantly looking around, waiting for someone to jump out from somewhere, someone like Belial or Stark or...John.

She closes her eyes, forcing herself not to think about it. Now is not the time. She has to help Joseph, to find Emma. Not because Gabriel told her to – it's never about who tells her what to do – but because it's the right thing to do.

Whatever the game is, whatever the end result may be, she knows which side she's on...humanity's side.

"Hey, Joseph, man, how's it going?" The clerk at the help desk is smiling as Joseph approaches, "I was wondering when I'd see you."

"Why's that?" Joseph is leaning on the counter, casually – he's obviously familiar with the clerk, so Allison doesn't really question it.

"Well, Leah's new laptop. Wait for me here, I have to go out back for it. We've been trying to call her, but we figured we could hold it for her, no big deal," the clerk smiles as if he's completely unaware of the meaning behind his words.

Allison and Joseph exchange glances. It's like Allison thought. Leah must've known they were looking for them and she must've kept Joseph in the dark...enough for him to not be instantly killed by them, but he had still been mislead, used.

She wonders, though...how did Joseph survive? They could've killed them both, but they didn't. They erased his memory. Why?

Something hasn't been making sense from the beginning.

Why go through all the trouble of having someone tortured, then leading them to suicide, when they could've just killed him, alongside his wife?

_What are you up to, John?_

"Here it is," the clerk brings back a black, sleek laptop, and Joseph looks at it, his expression a blank one, which doesn't tell Allison much, but she doesn't think...well, it doesn't look like it belonged to the Leah that she had seen in pictures. Maybe it's a work laptop. "When did Leah give you this?"

"Oh, almost a month ago. Let me check," the boy types a few keys into his computer and reads out the date. Joseph's face is pale, but he composes himself quickly enough. Allison wants to ask him what's wrong, but not here, not now.

"She had already paid for it, too. There wasn't anything wrong with it. I mean, I didn't look through it or anything...we did our usual virus scans, checked the hardware, made sure it was running good, performance-wise. She just asked us to hold on to it until you could come and get it for her. How's is she doing, by the way?" Off Joseph's blank look, the clerk continues, eyebrow quirked, "Is she back from visiting her cousin?"

Allison can see Joseph is about to break, about to lose his composure, but he is, surprisingly, keeping a rein on it.

_Hold on just a little while longer...don't let loose on the kid._

"Which cousin?" Allison nears the desk, trying to smile, "It's a big family, there's lots of cousins."

The clerk looks at Joseph expecting him to respond, but then decides to respond for him, his smile a little too flirty for Allison's taste as he touches his hand to the counter, "Oh, you know, one of them. You know, come to think of it, I learned more about Leah that day than I have in all the times she came in complaining about her laptop – that's how I knew this was a new one. She kept telling me something about picking up her sister from this party up on Morning Star Hill, then they were going to visit their cousin...Allison!" He slaps his hand down on the counter, "that's the cousin's name, Allison. Yeah, they were going to see this really awesome tree. Something about it having a cool story but the terrain was dangerous or something. I thought she was pulling my leg, man, but she looked so happy. When I asked if you were going, man, she said no. She wouldn't let you go anywhere near that place. See, I asked her if she thought you weren't tough enough to handle it, but she said that wasn't it. She just wanted you safe. Then I told her, come on, have you seen the size of that man? A blizzard couldn't knock him down. Okay, what the hell, man, why aren't you laughing? Hey, Joseph, did I, wait!"

Allison watches as Joseph walks away. She can't follow him. Not then. She closes her eyes.

This is what happens when you get involved in the world of angels...you get caught in their web. Everything becomes a game, where someone knows everything, and you know only what they need you to know when they need you to know it.

"Did I say something wrong?" The clerk looks concerned now – genuinely concerned.

"Leah's passed away...recently." Off his shocked gaze, she forces a smile, not wanting to say too much, but needing to say it just the same. "I'm a friend of the family. I'm not her cousin, but I think...I think I would've liked to have been. I'm sorry, I have to go. Can I have the laptop...?"

The guy's face is as pale as Joseph's had been, "Uh, yeah, sure. I'm sorry. I didn't know. How did it happen?"

Allison takes the laptop, holding it close to her chest, sensing something around it...something that had been meant for her. "A car accident," she murmurs, though inside, she knows it was more than that.

Allison turns to chase after Joseph. When she steps out of the store, she sees him with his head against the wall. She notices red smudges on the wall and then looks at his hands. His knuckles.

"No hospital," he mutters through gritted teeth.

"Fine...just...let me drive, please," she waits till he places his keys on her hand and then hands him over the laptop. They both get in and she drives back to his apartment where he's mentioned he has a first aid kit. They can start working on his hands and then the laptop.

Clearly, Leah knew she was going to die, but instead of stopping it, instead of asking Joseph for help and bringing him down with her in her final moment, she set in motion a plan, one that would lead Joseph to Emma, with Allison's help. Allison doesn't know how Leah knew her name, how she even knew what to leave behind, if Joseph would even follow it, but one thing she knows without question.

Leah loved her husband.

The clerk had said, _She just wanted you safe_.

Leah had wanted him safe and Allison had been there to hear her final message.

She doesn't know how, but somehow, she has to keep Joseph alive.

For Leah.

* * *

"Lucifer, we have a problem." Lilith walks into the library again, and he's standing away from his desk, looking at the starlit sky through the window.

He loves this place – well, love is too strong a word – but in this mansion, rituals were performed, people were sacrificed, some were even eaten alive and the ghosts of the dead still remain, haunting any family, any one person who walks in. It's like surrounding himself with flowers that he himself sent.

But, Emma, oh, curious Emma, is impervious to such things.

"We often do." He turns from the window and almost cracks a smile – almost – when he sees Lilith wearing an apron. "I never thought I'd find humor in the term **hell froze over**. "

"_Max_," she says his name with distaste, and he knows she means Mephistopheles, "convinced the mortal girl that I'm some sort of culinary genius."

"And you went along with it?" He quirks a brow.

"Well, I was intrigued. I am not without a skill set. However, when the faucets keep pouring out blood instead of water...while I'm all for blood and gore, it doesn't go well in a beef bourguignon." Lilith throws herself on the nearest lounge chair, crossing her legs. "This place is ridiculous and that child is impossible. I've even tried to use my charm on her," off John's amused look, she glares. "Oh, why don't you try it, great serpent?"

"It doesn't interest me. Besides, Mephistopheles loves a challenge. He will win her favor, in time," he walks around the desk, standing on the opposite side, leaning back on it with his arms crossed.

"And here I thought you passed on her to avoid trouble with the missus," her smile is purely wicked and John would've applauded the insult, had he not been the creature that he is.

"Careful, Lilith, it's not that time yet," he murmurs.

She smiles, a kind of smile that he himself understands. She moves to stand, untying the apron before she lets it fall to her feet. She moves to remove her blazer next, then her pants, her hands working on her belt, pulling down the zipper, letting it fall, until she's standing there with nothing but a thong and a red buttoned blouse.

"But could you, Lucifer? If not her, could you take me? Could you prove yourself to be what we know you to be," she takes a step forward, "our prince," and another, "worthy to replace even Him," and another, "king of all kings," and another, "master of us all." Until they're face to face. "If you won't take the mortal, then, surely, you could prove me wrong by taking me. I am willing, Lucifer. Take me."

She inches her face close to his, waiting. He moves his hands, cupping her face tenderly, and she closes her eyes, ready to close the distance.

That's when the pain hits her full force. She can't even scream. Her voice – all of her senses – are gone and replaced only by one.

She falls to the ground – she doesn't really have a choice, as gravity does the task for her – and she can only shake, barely able to move away or fight back, as there is nothing to fight.

_So much pain._

When it stops, she's curled on the floor, gasping for air. Once she stops shaking, her eyes open and sees him, crouched next to her, his face utterly calm.

"You have always been one of my favorites, Lilith...such a great talent. Don't waste it. It's embarrassing." He throws a handkerchief at her face and when she pulls it away, she sees the hints of red. Her nose is bleeding.

"Lucifer, when the time comes..." He knows she has tested him, granted him one more chance to change his mind. He has failed.

The look of determination on his face answers her question before he even speaks, "I look forward to it. Until then, do as you're told."

And she smiles.

She always smiles, John knows.

They have much in common, Lilith and him. She forsook her place in His paradise for equality, to prove she was equal, if not better, to man. He forsook his place in heaven for something similar, yet something much greater.

It's only fair for it all to end this way.

He's chosen well.

* * *

**After thought: **I honestly love how a character, even in death, can make an appearance that'll surprise anyone. I mean, wow. Even I didn't see that coming (but, shhh, she didn't do it on her own). Anyway, hate? Love? I was sooo tempted to let Lilith have her way with John but I realized he wouldn't have done it...even if he could've done it. It would've been easy, really, to turn off his emotions and go wham-bam-goodbye, but even I re-read my stories from time to time (while at work, if it's particularly slow and I'm running low on caffeine, reading between tasks keeps me awake and thinking) and something about John in these stories has gotten me. He's not a lust bucket. He's just drawn to Allison. Why? Really. If I have to answer that for you, you need to watch the Prophecy Uprising (the final scene, please, thank you) and then Prophecy the Forsaken (the scene when she asks for his help and the park scene). Watch them and then tell me what you think :-)


	11. A Mother's Message

**Stating the Obvious:** The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note:** This is one of my favorite chapters to write and you'll see why after you read it...maybe. And thanks to my tactic of holding chapters hostage until I'm satisfied with them (and re-read them lots of times), I've actually split chapter 11 into two chapters and re-written them as a whole (but now I have to re-read them until I'm satisfied with the end result...OI). I did not see that coming. I was just re-reading bits of them at work and realized I left some, well, loose ends, and the best way to tie it all together was to open a whole new scene. I'm looking forward to your thoughts on those, but for now, enjoy the chapter that freaked me out so much while I was writing it, that I had to leave my hallway light on (sometimes, I identify with Allison too much...I swear I can hear/see things sometimes *shudder*) And to respond to the comment of Vigo's Lucifer. Oh, dear. I remember seeing him in that movie and being absolutely terrified, especially when he told the guy he'd be under the bed...he did very good, but John gave Lucifer a new realm of possibilities. Not just someone who loves to terrorize, to wield the power of such a damned creature and to wield it without the faintest hint of remorse, but someone who has been around for a very long time, someone who likes to play a game and who has finally found a piece worth wielding...if only he's allowed to keep it. That's just my theory, could be totally wrong.

* * *

**Chapter 10. **A Mother's Message

* * *

John can feel something moving in the darkness, something waiting for him outside, but he can't put his finger on it quite just yet.

It couldn't be an angel – their kind is not welcome here – then who?

Curiosity is usually something he doesn't succumb to easily, but somehow, now, it's controlling him.

He knows Emma and Mephistopheles are in the piano room – surprisingly, the mortal has yet to give in to him. Lilith has gone to relieve all that sexual tension elsewhere. It is just Mephistopheles, Emma and himself...yet there's another presence.

_Allison?_

No, he'd know if it was Allison, and this presence is strong – pure – but a trace of it is different...not immortal, not of his kind, or theirs, but something else.

He opens the front door, expecting to see, well, someone other than whom he sees.

She's wearing a white hooded cloak, standing under the Holly tree, not too far from the mansion, in the center of the circle which the path surrounds – the same path that leads to the mansion and out into the woods.

He hadn't paid the tree much attention then and yet now, it seems to be glowing, calling to him.

He'd underestimated Him.

He closes the door behind him, hands in his pockets as he crosses the path, heading towards her.

He stands on the opposite side of the tree, looking ahead, "This is a surprise."

She doesn't respond.

"I had expected Michael. Gabriel, even. Perhaps Simon, though he has always been a slippery one," he shrugs.

She still doesn't respond.

"Are you here for Emma? No, it wouldn't be that simple, would it? But what could you ever want with me," he smiles, "after all I did to your son?"

He takes a step forward, enough to have a good look at her. She has thrown back her hood, but her eyes remain locked on the house. He has to confess, of all mortals, she had been the most curious one. Her beauty is...plain, unimportant. Her hair dark brown, simple, quaint; her eyes a darker shade of brown; her body not one to tempt a man, not even with a second glance, and yet...there's a purity about her, a purity she has never lost.

When she speaks, it's unexpected, "Did you know that some call the Holly tree the Tree of Sacrifice? Others believe it symbolizes not just sacrifice, but love...reincarnation...the Sword of Truth. It's only fitting that you would choose this place as the end."

He smiles, "Then that must mean you already know."

"As does He."

They've yet to lock eyes, both of them looking towards opposite directions, an air of peace between them.

He smiles, almost smug, "Does He disapprove?"

She chuckles, and the sound is melodic, absolutely stunning, so much so even _he_ turns to look at her. That's when he notices she's turned towards him, her hands joined together on her lap.

"You're still such a child," she smiles. He quirks a brow. He's older than her, he wants to say, but to argue the point _would_ be childish. "I used to fear you." To that, he smiles. "You were this terrible creature, this symbol of evil and you...you tried to take from me. You take from everyone. But then I saw...in His grace, I saw you for what you truly are. All of you." She takes a step forward, closer and closer, until he's looking into her eyes, looking as she _glows_ and he wants to move away, to push her away, to show her exactly what he is.

"You're lonely." Her words almost penetrate into him, inside the space only one other person can reach; he doesn't like it. "You all are. That's what the war is about, isn't it? You somehow believe God stops favoring you, and all the other angels, and you decide to take back his favor by destroying that which He built. Tell me, how does it help you to destroy that which He has created, for all of you?"

He turns his back on her, refusing to see how her words take shape in her eyes. "Don't waste your time trying to sway my intentions with your words. What I do is my will and my will alone. I wanted to be Him, to rule beside Him, like a mantle passed over from father to son, and yet He, in His own pride, did not share my view. He is the ruler of heaven, I am the ruler of hell; it is very simple. I am not at war with anyone – I am not one of his angels, not anymore. Besides, I have yet to make my move...but when I do, I'll need only one."

"Is that what you think?" Her head tilts to the side. "Oh, Lucifer. It is unfortunate...that you choose to carry out actions that might destroy the first thing that has filled the void you yourself created."

He closes his fists, the thought of losing her triggering more emotion than he would often allow himself. "Destruction? You speak of destruction?" His eyes darken, "I wonder if you truly understand the meaning of the word. Your God, in His pride, decided to punish me by casting me out rather than grant me the power that I earned for myself. He caused the separation, he created a divided realm, he opened the path to destruction from the very moment he allowed the existence of curiosity, of free will. And yet, you accuse me of being the bringer of destruction? Isn't He who is responsible for birth also responsible for every death, every disease? Now tell me, oh Blessed Virgin. Tell me. How am I to blame for that which He created?"

He feels her hand on his shoulder and he shouldn't relax under her touch, he shouldn't feel calm, he shouldn't feel _period_, but he does.

He shrugs her hand off and smiles weakly. He must be getting desperate if He's playing her as the last piece of the game.

"He did exactly what you wanted, Lucifer. He gave you a realm to rule, perhaps not the one you wanted, but the one you earned." To that, he turns around. "When a father has children, he has to love them equally, but when those children are so great, so powerful, so capable, then they don't need much looking after. Then he has more children, capable of so much but so weak, in need of guidance and nurturing. Do you forsake our Holy Father for tending to the weak, the mortals, and trusting the strong, the Angels, to do as siblings would, care after their younger kin?" Before John can mock her for even trying to refer to mortals as kin to angels, she holds up her hand and continues. "And yes, He has allowed the war amongst angels, has allowed them to sully their existence with the sins of the weak. And yet, what parent would not let their child make a mistake they couldn't learn from? He is allowing them free will and they will answer for their actions soon, but for now, they are learning, yet you refuse to learn from anything that does not serve your own purpose. Yes, He took Gabriel back, but Gabriel earned his return. He asked for forgiveness. He did the right thing. You, Lucifer, have never asked for forgiveness, have never repented, have never wanted to return, only to own and destroy. Tell me, why would He take you back, when you're not ready yet?"

He's starting to get a migraine, he knows. The last time he got a migraine, he managed to inspire the destruction of entire cities.

"Lucifer," she grabs his hand and he realizes, she's shaking. "Think back when you were one of them. The most beautiful of angels. God's most valued arch. What made you rebel?"

_The Sword of Truth_, he remembers her saying.

He sighs, squeezing her hand, an act which surprises even her. "I wanted to be worshiped – like him."

Pride. Vanity. Ambition. It always boils down to that.

"No," she lets go of his hand, touches his cheek and he looks at her hand distrustfully. "You wanted to be loved. To be truly and completely loved. Above all things, above all others, you wanted to be loved. Have you not wondered why now, after so many years, have you found peace in the arms of a lover? You've taken a mortal before. You've taken fallen as your own. Lilith, if I recall, was your personal favorite."

Before she can even continue – before she even tries to use Allison against him again, he looks at her, his smile wicked. "So," he moves away from her hand, regaining his composure. "You've been watching. Has He been watching with you? I never thought you one for voyeurism, all things considered."

Mary smiles, knowing he's not lost, not yet. "Lucifer...inside that place, there is a mortal unlike any other. She is neither of Heaven nor Hell. She was born completely free. Free of judgment, free of sin, free of any burden that either side might carry. Choosing the right side could end the war; she would be what my son was...for them. If you lead her to the wrong side, Lucifer...it's over. The angels will lead their final rebellion against mortals, they will tear each other apart, it will rain blood, more than even you can imagine, and there will be nothing worth saving, not even your precious Allison."

"I have my own legion. Heaven will not be the only side fighting this war. I will protect my own," he knows who he means, so does Mary.

"No, you can't. No one is safe. The entire world will suffer, their cries will tear through the fabric of the universe and everything will fall. It will be the perfect Apocalypse. It'll cleanse everything of life." John smells her tears, sees them running down her cheek, but they're not water.

She's crying blood.

"Why don't you ask Him to stop it?" He murmurs, hiding his anger, pretending to care much less than he actually does.

"What makes you think I haven't? What makes you think I don't pray for them, for the angels, for you? Oh, yes, I pray for you, Lucifer, and even if we meet our end, I pray that your love is enough to carry you through it. God isn't a tyrant. He's a parent, a tired parent, one who has given His children an entire world, knowledge and the beauty of free will, only to see it misused. What would you prefer, for Him to strike them all down, to kill without mercy, to cast out without hope that they will learn? He is merciful. He hopes. God Himself has faith. And that's why you hate Him...not because of what He chooses not to do, but because of His faith in them, in us. Suffering is not eternal, but His love is. Even you have not forgotten that."

He laughs, softly, "You're trying to tell me He still loves me? He forgives me, He wants me to come home, He'll make it all the way it used to be?"

That stops her tears, her face stoic. "Anything that is once broken can be repaired, but it will never be the same way again. Any parent will love a child, no matter what the child might do to hurt that love, whatever that child may be, love is eternal."

He's about to tell her what he thinks of His love and how far He can shove it when he senses it.

"Allison," he hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there it is.

"Ah, see. Love. Even the undeserving are capable of such a thing." With that, she disappears, and he has to leave as well.

He has to find her.

* * *

**After thought:** This chapter was _terrifying _to write. Absolutely scary. Mainly because I could envision the scene so well and Mary kept giving me goosebumps. More than that, it wrote itself. Usually, I write until I see somewhere to put a break in for another scene to crawl in. This one wouldn't let me even entertain the idea. It just kept going and going and going and once I saw I could end it, I checked the wordcount and whoa. Really? I wrote all that, without realizing it. YAY.

On a side note, I was raised catholic but as I grew up, I steered clear from religion as a whole and now consider myself spiritual. This chapter in no way reflects my beliefs, but just the interpretation of what I think God would be like, regardless of belief. If that insults or hurts anyone, I am so very sorry, that's not my intention.


	12. The Point of No Return

**Stating the Obvious:** The following fanfic is a sequel to "Second Chances".

**Disclaimer:** I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **So, this chapter is one of the ones I redid. The beginning I had already written, but had to rewrite anyway because I had written it as a sort of dream-like narrative, but now it flows a little differently...and fits much better, I think. Isn't it good that I hold these back before posting? Now we get to have an extra chapter that didn't exist before _and_ I get to rewrite the 13th chapter, and maybe, the 14th (and there wasn't a 14th chapter before today). And, turns out, I might get to rewrite the whole ending, not just the epilogue (which may give us another extra chapter or two). I am stuck between laughing and crying *facepalm*

* * *

**Chapter 11. **The Point of No Return

* * *

Allison's mind is troubled as she walks up the steps to Joseph's apartment. She is sensing something, but there's no evidence to her gut instinct...nothing looks out of place.

Once they're in the apartment, her first thought is to look out the window – it's almost comical how she's come to expect the worst from looking out of a window – but there is no fallen angel, just Michael.

_Odd_, she thinks._ Is he here to deliver another message?_

He's completely still, unmoving, and she can't read his expression in order to determine his intentions – with Michael, she is never sure. One moment he's on her side, the other moment he's driving her further away from what she's trying to accomplish.

She turns her face to glance at Joseph. He's placing the laptop on the couch, ready to give it his attention, until an unexpected knock touches the door. She glances out the window, noticing Michael is now gone. That makes her quirk a brow.

Since when do angels knock?

When she turns her face again, she is grateful to see that Joseph at least has the sense of looking through the peep hole before opening the door, but when the door is open, she sees it's not Michael, but someone she doesn't know.

Her senses spike.

Something's not right.

Joseph greets the man by name – which confuses her even more – and she can hear the surprise in his voice, but the surprise turns to terror when it finally clicks.

She recognizes that scent – it's almost hard to discern, masked with something else, something that almost covers it, but it's there, however faint, she can smell it now.

A Fallen.

She yells Joseph's name and he turns, moving just enough for the man to miss his heart by inches – inches – but the damage is done, as the man pushes Joseph's body off his hand. Allison is momentarily paralyzed as she watches what she had promised herself wouldn't happen. Her vision clears when she notices the Fallen lift his leg off the ground, ready to smash his skull in, and she can't let it happen. Not again. Not like this.

"STOP!" The man stops his foot, in mid-air, gritting his teeth, glaring at her.

She doesn't have time to contemplate why he stopped – what matters is that he stopped, he _actually_ stopped.

She sprints towards Joseph, her legs finally functioning and falls on her knees, pressing her hand over the wound – clean through, how could she even dream of stopping the bleeding?

She notices, though, where his holster is, and the decision is instantaneous – she can't choke this time.

She empties Joseph's barrel into the man's head, pools of black blood oozing out of his skull.

The man falls to his knees, smiling, and her hands are shaking. It's not over yet.

And then she does it, the one thing she thought herself incapable of.

She lets the gun fall out of her hands and lets her hand go straight through the man's chest, through flesh, muscle and bone, until her hand is wrapped around his heart as she crushes its life away.

It's not until she feels his arms – John's arms, John's words, ushering her to let go – pulling her back that she realizes she'd been screaming, and crying, continuously, throughout the whole thing.

She kicks her legs like a child, clawing at his arms, trying to tear him off her.

He's not someone she wants to see, not now – possibly not ever.

"Allison, you have to go!"

"No!" She screams. "Joseph!" Leah. She cries, inside, for Leah, for the woman who sacrificed herself for him, to keep him alive, to lead Allison to Emma.

And for what?

It's Maria all over again.

They all die.

John still doesn't let her go – she might have left a mark at one point, she thinks – as he continues to hold her trashing body as if Allison hurting herself is of actual concern to him.

The thought is one that doesn't linger long.

Something is happening to her – she can feel it, has been feeling it for some time, but she tries to fight it. It's either the shock or the battle of it all – something is draining her and it's winning.

She can feel herself falling asleep, "N..no. No..."

"Sleep well, Allison," are the last words she hears before the whole world goes dark.

* * *

John isn't angry. Oh, no, this is scarier than anger. When he is angry, terrible things happen, but right now he feels..eerily calm with a murderous intent. Perhaps the same intent Allison had felt not too long ago.

_Oh, Allison._

He had arrived just in time to see her unload every bullet into his man's chest – a fallen he had placed into Emma's household for the purpose of driving Emma out, but he had not given him the order to take out Joseph. He knows there are few people who can, on his behalf, his closest circle, his personal army, as some call it...and he knows which one would want to throw Allison off their scent.

If only they knew, Allison is much too stubborn for that. Even as John managed to get her to fall asleep in his arms, her hand still held his heart, and John then realized, her own heart – what little innocence and humanity Allison had left – had been crushed with it.

He knows it's not her first kill – not really – but in a way, to him, to any fallen, it would be perceived as such...killing in self-defense is something forgivable, something instinctual, but killing out of rage, anger and vengeance? Those belong in his domain. As she is his, she is protected, for now, but he doubts she'll ever forget it. Another death toll to add to her nightmares, he knows.

Would she forgive him again? He has never really cared for forgiveness – he's much too proud for that – and yet he has gone through a lot of trouble to keep her out of his affairs until His gracious archs decided to get her involved, forcing him to be between losing the war or losing Allison.

Perhaps the decision will come easily to him now.

John walks through the dark alleys knowing exactly what things lurk in the darkness – things that are smart enough to move out of his way.

He's following her scent, something that he does with ease, because she's not hiding it.

Oh, if he knows her – and he knows her very well – she is up to something deliciously naughty.

He finally reaches a warehouse with music heard from the outside – the kind he detests, which is unnecessarily loud and makes even the dirt on the ground vibrate as a result – and he knows this place as one of her haunts.

It's an empty warehouse to most, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, but at night, when Lilith has her way, mattresses cover the floors and bodies tend to cover the mattresses on many different angles.

He presses the buzzer on the side, which doesn't work as most buzzers would, but lights up a series of bulbs, depending on the amount of times pressed. He presses twice, then pause, three more times, then pause and one last time.

He then sees a light starting to touch the sidewalk, a door being opened, slightly ajar, but it does not open fully. He walks over, pushes the door and sees that it won't open all the way. He will not squeeze himself in through the gap. He decides to send a message instead.

With one single thought, he sends the door flying off its hinges and sees the reason it had barely opened is because of the two monkeys going at it near the entrance.

They're too entranced in their fucking that they don't spare him a second glance. He catches the scent in the air.

_Oh, Lilith._

Mortals use many drugs in order to "relax" or enhance their experiences, but Lilith herself is a drug, able to manipulate the senses of monkeys, particularly those which lower their inhibitions considerably.

He surveys the area with little interest, seeing the bodies and limbs intertwined and in motion, moans escaping lips and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

He finds Lilith in the far end of the warehouse. He would've seen her sooner had it not been for the human-sized fans held by two monkeys, which covered her slightly every time they moved them. She is lying on a luscious set of pillows, different shades of red, some black, and as soon as the fans are out of her line of sight, their eyes lock, and the music stops.

She smiles.

He stares at the fans, feeling the energy surge from under him until it touches the delicate feathers, setting them on fire.

The two men continue to hold them, too deep into the trance, and only when Lilith's lips move with the order, do they let them fall to the floor and then begin putting out the fire with pillows, hitting them over and over again, stopping it before it spreads.

Now it's John's turn to smile.

As he makes his way through the bodies of people – people that would someday find themselves as far away from pleasure as you possibly can get – until he's standing across from Lilith, the scent of smoke still in the air.

"Lucifer, to what do I owe–" Her voice is gone. She clutches at her neck, trying to breathe, and her eyes harden, her gaze seething with rage.

Something tugs at him – he never thought himself capable of a conscience – but he listens to it, without question, and lets his grip loosen until her neck no longer feels like it's being crushed.

What happens next, though, is almost a delightful surprise.

He feels her mind lash out against him, feels the tickle of her strength touching his skin. Even he, as Lucifer, had acquired a set of gifts with time...gifts he could've used to destroy so many things, but in truth, people often spent their times trying to destroy themselves – for him it has always been more fun to simply move the pieces around and wait.

Besides, if he destroyed someone, they would often be accepted into God's arms. If they somehow destroyed themselves, well, then he could be the one greeting them with an accomplished smile.

His display of power is often rare, but Lilith's display of power – her attempt of it, rather – is a challenge, one that he finds himself enjoying. He raises his brow, arms crossed, looking bored, and he can see how she's trying to use all of her strength to throw him off – it took Belial some time to discover he could use human bodies to escape from Lucifer's punishment, he wonders how long she's been saving this one.

He smiles when she finally gives up and with a flick of her wrist, the moans stop, the monkeys suddenly spent and passed out around them.

"You've made your point," she mumbles, looking away from him, "though I still think what you're doing is completely idiotic."

He smirks, "You're allowed to think whatever you like, Lilith. In fact, I'm sure you recall, following me is an option, not an obligation, however, acting against my orders has certain consequences..."

She meets his gaze now, eyebrows raised, "Considering what you're about to do, I think we're beyond threats now. Lucifer...what has she done to you? You've become...like them. It was amusing, at first, certainly made me curious, but now," her face twists in disgust, "it is wrong."

"And yet, is that not how I began my reign, Lilith? By doing something that was considered wrong by some, by Him," off her eyeroll, he smiles, "Lilith, you are still young, too young to understand. I am not doing this for her. I am doing this for myself."

She scoffs, "You're just trying to protect her. What do you think I am? One of your many ignorant followers? Lucifer, you cannot deceive me. I know the true secrest that lies within you."

"And I am not trying to deceive you, Lilith," he looks away, noticing the slumbering couple a few feet away. In the past, he would've enjoyed walking into Lilith's playground, he'd play games of his own, but now...things have indeed changed.

He meets her eyes, "I am very old. I grow weary of these attempts to undermine me...I could've easily taken Belial's life after his return, just as easily as I could take yours, but to what purpose? I am not Him. I am not a tyrant. I let you do as you will, so long as it does not intervene in my plans, and yet, what you have just done...you have forced my hand." Lilith's eyes widen, "The end that I had perceived has now split into two roads, one of which will mean the end of me and the other, well, the other means the end of the very Lucifer you have been trying to provoke."

"So, tell me," he continues, "did you really think your actions would serve my, or your, purpose? And how?"

The way he stands now, right in this very moment, he has never looked more regal, more threatening.

Lilith realizes then that that is her punishment.

Her act of disobedience has sealed their fate and now they can only ride out the wave and hope for the lesser of two evils...

Oh, the irony.

* * *

**After thought: **I'm sorry, but the devil being faced with _hope_ for the lesser of two _evils_, was just a joke I couldn't stop myself from developing...which makes me feel even more evil in turn, but it's something I'm willing to live with. Yes, I killed Joseph, I know, I'm a horrible person. Lucifer's portion of this chapter was the missing scene I came up with at the last minute. In the back of my head, I knew Lilith had been the one to push for Joseph's death, I guess, hoping it would keep Allison from moving forward (as she really is trying to avoid following orders...with good reason), but little does she know, there's more pieces to this puzzle than meets the eye...bwuahahaha?


End file.
